Gemotions

The coffee was cold and bitter, much like the taste in his mouth. Bob rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. The meeting. It was time. He’d seen the signs. He’d heard the whispers. He’d just hoped, for once, he was wrong.

He hated this part, the waiting, the anticipation. The feeling of being trapped, helpless to affect the outcome. He sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet office. He grabbed his coat, feeling the weight of the day settle over him.

He walked toward the conference room. He'd dealt with this before. He'd survive. But the sheer futility of it all was almost unbearable. He pushed open the door. The room was already filling with faces.