Gemotions

The musty air of the filing room clung to Amelia like a shroud. She wrinkled her nose, the scent of aged paper and something vaguely… organic, making her stomach churn. Her new colleagues, a pair of stooped figures with ink-stained fingers, offered her a welcome that felt more like a grudging inspection. Amelia forced a smile, but the edges of her mouth felt stiff, as if made of cardboard. She loathed the thought of spending her days amidst these archives.

She tried to find a clean spot on the battered metal desk, finally settling on a patch where a previous worker had taped a motivational quote. The quote was peeling. Amelia pulled a tissue from her purse, wiped at it with force, and flung the tissue in the trash. The words, barely readable, seemed mocking.

Her first task was to organize the "Orphaned Client Files," a pile of thick folders that seemed to breed dust. Every time she reached for one, she felt the need to scrub her hands. The thought of the hands that had touched them before was, frankly, unwelcome.