Gemotions

He paced the sterile waiting area, each stride a frantic measure of lost time. Mark ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, leaving it standing on end. He checked his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. The departure board continued to taunt him with the delay notice, the flashing red text a physical blow. He'd envisioned this moment for weeks: presenting the award, hearing the roaring applause. Now? Nothing. He kicked a stray newspaper across the polished floor, the sound echoing in the cavernous space.