Gemotions

She slammed the stapler onto her desk, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise silent warehouse. Her chest was a tight, constricted space, and she found it hard to draw breath. This little weasel, Mark, who'd been brought in to take over her position, was dawdling. He kept staring at the shipping labels like they were ancient hieroglyphs. It was all so simple.

"The inventory codes go *here*," she barked, her voice sharper than she intended. She pointed, her finger trembling slightly. The air felt thick, charged. Her palms were slick with sweat.

Mark flinched. Good. Maybe that would wake him up. She fought the urge to snatch the labels out of his hands and do it herself. The injustice of it all - years of experience, dedication...for what? To be replaced by some eager, wet-behind-the-ears newbie? She started pacing, each step a deliberate stomp.