Gemotions

The stale air in the elevator hung heavy, thick with the scent of cheap cologne and unresolved tension. I shifted my weight, the hard floor unforgiving beneath my feet. I'd already paced the small space twice, my energy level high and my patience low.

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but the words died in my throat. My gaze darted around, taking in every detail of the confined box. The scratches on the walls, the fingerprints on the control panel, the static of the emergency intercom. Every inch of this space felt oppressive.

I felt a restlessness building inside, an urge to scream, or maybe just to start singing at the top of my lungs. I clamped my mouth shut, knowing that neither option was feasible. This wait felt endless.