Gemotions

The fluorescent lights in the elevator hummed, a shrill, grating sound that seemed to bore directly into Michael's skull. He tapped his foot, a rapid staccato against the cold metal floor. Three hours. Three hours he’d been trapped with Brenda, his supervisor. He glanced at her, taking in her unnaturally calm demeanor.

“So, Brenda,” he began, his voice tight, “you think they know we’re here yet?” He crossed his arms, the action a rigid gesture of defensiveness.

Brenda, ever the optimist, chirped, "Oh, I'm sure someone will find us soon. Just a small glitch, probably." Michael rolled his eyes, a silent, internal scream. The stale air grew thicker with each passing minute, making his skin prickle uncomfortably. He shifted his weight, longing for the freedom of his desk.