Gemotions

He arrived early, as always, but today the silence of the office felt oppressive. Mark's chest tightened as he reread the HR memo. "Assist with the transition." It felt less like an instruction, and more like a pronouncement of doom. He could almost feel the axe descending.

He paced his small cubicle, the confined space suddenly feeling claustrophobic. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to hum with a malevolent energy. He clasped his hands, the knuckles turning white. He thought of his mortgage, his daughter's college fund, the life he had built.

When David, the replacement, arrived, Mark’s throat constricted. He managed a strained greeting, his voice hoarse. He pointed at the computer screen, the cursor trembling. Explaining the arcane system felt akin to giving away the keys to his kingdom. He watched David's face, searching for any sign of judgment or, worse, pity.