Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a relentless, irritating noise that seemed to amplify the tight knot in Mark's stomach. He kept fiddling with the stapler on his desk, clicking it open and shut, open and shut, as the new hire, a fresh-faced kid named David, watched him with wide, expectant eyes. Mark’s palms felt slick against the cold metal.

He cleared his throat, the sound a dry rasp in the sudden quiet. "So," he began, his voice sounding thinner than he intended. “Let’s start with… the filing system.” He gestured vaguely towards a cabinet, avoiding David's gaze.

The clock on the wall seemed to mock him, its hands ticking with agonizing slowness. Every shared glance, every question from David, felt like a deliberate probe, designed to reveal the cracks in Mark's carefully constructed façade of competence. He found himself avoiding eye contact, and his hands were shaky.