Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the accounting department hummed, a sound that usually lulled Amelia into a dull calm. Today, the noise grated on her nerves. She watched Mark, her colleague, walk out with a jaunty spring in his step, a cardboard box clutched in his arms. He was headed to the marketing team. Amelia knew what was in the box: his stapler, his favorite mug, and all the exciting possibilities of a new role.

She slammed the file she was working on, the sound echoing in the sterile office. Her stomach clenched. A wave of heat washed over her, making her palms sweat. Mark had been the same level as her, the same training, the same seniority. Now, he was off to the promised land, while she was stuck crunching numbers.

“Good luck, Mark!” she had forced herself to say, her smile feeling as stiff as cardboard. He had grinned, told her it was “a great opportunity,” and then disappeared down the hallway, leaving Amelia to stew. She found herself rearranging her desk for the third time that day, a futile attempt to disrupt the oppressive sameness of her surroundings.