Gemotions

The flickering fluorescent lights of the office seemed to pulse in time with the hammering in Michael's chest. He stared at the email, the numbers swimming before his eyes. Sarah, fresh out of college, was making fifteen grand more than him. He hadn't slept properly in a week, haunted by unpaid bills and the gnawing feeling of inadequacy.

He slumped back in his chair, the cheap plastic creaking beneath his weight. His stomach churned. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He’d poured years into this company, sacrificed weekends, chased promotions that never materialized.

The vending machine in the break room beckoned. He needed something, anything, to quiet the anxiety clawing at his throat. He punched in the code for a bag of chips, his fingers trembling, and the bag clattered down. He ripped it open, shoving the salty, greasy contents into his mouth, not even tasting them.