Gemotions

The email was still open on her screen, the words a taunt. *Effective immediately: Transfer to Accounts Receivable.* She slammed her fist on the desk, the cheap particleboard shuddering under the impact. The air in her cubicle suddenly felt thick, too small. She spun her chair, her gaze locking onto the window, the city a distant, indifferent hum. She wanted to scream, to shatter something, to tear the perfectly organized stacks of paperwork into confetti. "What the hell is this?" she muttered, the question aimed at the void.