Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down Mark’s temple as he reread the memo. His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of his desk. He felt a deep, unsettling unease begin to coil in his gut, a cold knot tightening with each line he scanned. He’d built a life in Marketing; he *knew* Marketing.

He slammed his fist on the desk, the sudden noise surprising him. He hated change. He hated the unknown. The prospect of starting over in HR made him queasy. His usual confidence evaporated, replaced by a growing sense of dread.

"Not… not HR," he muttered, his voice barely a rasp. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the texture of his scalp prickling.