Gemotions

He stared at his reflection in the break room window. Kevin, the fresh-faced kid, was leaning against the counter, humming a tuneless song. He walked over, grabbed a stale donut, and began to eat it, slowly, deliberately. The crumbs fell.

"So, Kevin, you'll be handling the accounts receivable," he mumbled around a mouthful. Kevin nodded enthusiastically. He didn't want this, did he? It wasn't fair. The unfairness clawed at the back of his throat.

He spent the next hour showing him the accounting software. Each click was a small act of rebellion, a minor act of aggression. He skipped over important steps. "Don't worry about this, it's not relevant," he said, omitting crucial information. Kevin looked confused.

His stomach churned with a mixture of resentment and the sugary donut. This was all they had offered him. The empty, hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach was his constant companion. He would make them work for it.