Gemotions

The fluorescent lights flickered, casting a sickly yellow glow on Amelia's face. The air in the elevator was already starting to feel thick, like a damp sponge pressed against her lungs. She sighed, a small puff of air that seemed to carry the weight of the last six months with it. Across from her, Mark, from accounting, was drumming his fingers on his briefcase, his face a mask of practiced indifference.

“This is just great,” Amelia muttered, mostly to herself. The presentation she’d been slaving over for weeks felt even more pointless now, trapped in this metal box. She slumped against the back wall, her shoulders rounding, the strap of her handbag digging into her shoulder.

Mark finally spoke, his voice surprisingly calm. “First time stuck?”

She shook her head, the movement slow and heavy. “No. Just… the timing, you know?” This was the worst possible day.