Gemotions

The cold steel of the elevator car pressed against Clara’s back, a feeling that only amplified the chill that had settled in her bones. She hugged herself, trying to ward off the shivers. The air was stale, tainted with the faint scent of stale coffee and something metallic. The clock on her phone seemed to tick in slow motion.

Across the cramped space, Michael, from IT, was leaning against the wall, eyes closed. She knew he was probably thinking about his upcoming wedding. She envied him that. She was alone, in all respects.

“Think they’ll get us out soon?” Clara finally asked, her voice barely a whisper. Michael didn't stir. She felt a deep sense of isolation, a gnawing hollowness.