Gemotions

“Another one bites the dust,” muttered John to himself. He heard the phrase echoing in his head. The news was out and had been digested. The impact felt like a physical blow. He felt nothing.

He was a cog. A replaceable part. He pushed his chair back from the desk and stared at the ceiling. The office had become a graveyard. No one cared. He walked down the corridor. He felt the coldness radiating.

He went home and drank too much whiskey. He woke up the next morning feeling worse. He decided to call in sick.