Gemotions

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, a relentless, irritating pulse that matched the frantic thrumming in Mark’s chest. He crossed his arms, the thin fabric of his shirt doing little to protect him from the chill that seemed to seep from the very walls. "Well, this is just great," he muttered, his voice a low growl, directed more at the metal box than at Sarah, his coworker.

He glared at the control panel, the red "OUT OF ORDER" sign mocking him. He’d had a particularly rough week. The deadline for the Anderson account loomed, his apartment's plumbing was playing up, and now this. A sigh escaped him, a puff of air that seemed to carry all the frustration he was trying to suppress.

"Anything… useful, on your phone?" Sarah asked, her voice calm and, irritatingly, upbeat. He just shook his head, the movement tight and jerky. He was in no mood for idle chatter. He needed space, silence, escape. This cramped, confined space was a personal hell.