Gemotions

He’d always considered himself above this. Arthur, now relegated to the shipping department, watched a forklift maneuver pallets, its movements clumsy and slow. He clenched his jaw, the image of his former office, the sleek glass and chrome, burned in his mind.

“Alright, new guy, you’re on the labeling machine,” a burly man with a handlebar mustache barked. Arthur barely acknowledged him. He examined the machine, running his hand along its cold, impersonal surface.

His fingers itched to grab the sleek Macbook he usually had at his fingertips. The air smelled of cardboard and desperation. He imagined the other employees, oblivious to his superior intellect, his higher station in the corporate pecking order.