Gemotions

The elevator's sudden halt sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated frustration through Ben. He slammed his hand against the button panel, a series of frustrated thuds echoing in the silent compartment. Each button remained stubbornly inactive.

He turned to face his coworker, Chloe, and the sight of her placid expression only fueled his internal fire. The woman looked as though she was out for a relaxing Sunday drive, and the lack of urgency, the lack of *anything*, grated on him.

“Well, this is just great,” he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with acid. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the prickling heat of rising exasperation. He was already late for an important meeting, and now this.

He could feel his pulse hammering in his temples, a relentless drumbeat of fury. He paced the small space, his movements jerky and restless. He pictured the faces of the people waiting for him, the disappointment, the lost opportunities. This wasn't just an inconvenience; it was a disaster.

He began to test the door, pulling and pushing with mounting force, as if sheer willpower could pry it open. He just wanted out.