Gemotions

He’d imagined the IT department would be a haven. Somewhere quiet, where he could tinker with code, away from the clamor of sales. Instead, the cubicle felt like a prison cell. The air, thick with the stale scent of instant coffee and desperation, seemed to press down on him. John found himself staring at the blinking cursor, a tiny, judgmental eye.

His new colleagues, a cliquish bunch, barely acknowledged his existence. His attempts at conversation were met with curt nods and hurried departures. The silence was deafening. He felt a hollowness in his chest, a sense of having been tossed onto a stage without a script.

He’d volunteered for the project, the one about improving the company website, but now he didn't even want to log into his computer. He dragged himself to the coffee machine, the bitter brew failing to offer the smallest comfort.