Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the accounting department seemed to hum a mocking tune. Amelia slammed her stapler onto the desk, the metal clack echoing the agitation churning inside her. It had only been a week since the transfer to marketing. A week. And already, the forced smiles, the endless meetings about “synergy,” the bright, airy office space felt like a gilded cage.

She rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the tension that had settled there like a permanent knot. The smell of freshly brewed coffee, usually a comfort, now felt cloying, a sugary sweetness that coated her tongue in a film of resentment. “So, are we ready to brainstorm?” Brenda asked with unsettling cheer. Amelia just stared out the window. The cityscape was a blur of grey.