Gemotions

He stared at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything other than the situation. The air inside the box was thick with the scent of cheap perfume and the underlying aroma of despair. His stomach twisted, a physical manifestation of his unease. He wanted to get out.

"This is just great," Barbara, his co-worker, said in a bright, forced tone. Her over-the-top positivity was almost worse than silence. He nodded, offering a tight-lipped smile, the action feeling like an unwelcome burden.

He pictured the escape. Smashing out the glass, crawling through the wreckage. He imagined the fresh air on his face. He focused on that idea, and tried to breathe slowly.