Gemotions

He gripped the railing, knuckles white. John's head felt like a pressure cooker. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He swallowed hard, trying to keep down the sour taste that was rising in his throat.

"Is anyone else claustrophobic?" he asked, his voice betraying a tremor. The two other people in the elevator exchanged glances. Silence. That didn't help.

He closed his eyes, picturing wide-open spaces, vast skies. But the image wouldn't stick. The metal walls seemed to shrink, closing in on him. His breath came in short, ragged gasps.

He wished he had taken the stairs. He felt a need to break something, to scream. The need was overwhelming.