Gemotions

The cramped space was a pressure cooker. David, normally the picture of composure, was sweating profusely. He had to be calm, he kept telling himself. But the metallic smell, the lack of air, the silence, it all became too much.

"Any luck with your phone?" asked his colleague, Emily, her voice calm.

He shook his head, unable to speak. Every shadow in the corners of his vision seemed to shift and writhe. He pressed his back against the wall, trying to find some semblance of stability. He felt a strange tingling in his fingertips.

His breath grew shallow. He felt trapped, cornered, and the walls seemed to closing in. He started pacing, muttering to himself, his words incoherent.