Gemotions

Mark slammed the stapler down, the metallic clang echoing in the sterile silence of his cubicle. The air felt thick, heavy, like wading through molasses. His carefully constructed world, his understanding of value and reward, had fractured. He had poured years into this company, sacrificed weekends, taken on extra projects. And for what?

He pushed his chair back, the wheels squeaking on the linoleum. The view from his window, normally a source of calm, seemed to mock him, the cityscape a chaotic jumble of buildings. He stared at his hands, watching them tremble slightly.

“Coffee?” Susan, his supervisor, suddenly stood beside his desk. Her voice was too loud, too cheerful. He just nodded, unable to speak, the words stuck in his throat, and grabbed his keys.