Gemotions

The spreadsheet glared back at Amelia, a blinking, accusatory cursor mocking her efforts. She’d been at it for hours, chasing a phantom decimal point that kept throwing the whole thing off. The air in her cubicle was thick with the scent of stale coffee and impending doom. She slammed her fist lightly on the desk, a tiny sound amplified in the otherwise silent office. "It's just…ugh," she muttered under her breath, a knot twisting in her stomach. Then, across the room, she heard Mark, her coworker, whistling a familiar tune. "Is that…'Campfire Song'?" she asked, her voice tight.