Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the elevator hummed, a relentless, irritating noise that grated on Amelia's nerves. She pressed the button for the emergency call, but only silence followed. Three hours. It had been three hours since the doors shuddered to a halt. The air was getting thick, heavy, like the weight in her chest.

Amelia slumped against the cold metal wall, her head resting on it. Her coworker, Mark, a man she barely knew, kept trying to make small talk. She barely acknowledged him. She’d lost her dog, Max, a week ago. Everything felt muted, as if she were viewing the world through a thick pane of glass.

Mark eventually fell silent, too, sensing her mood. She closed her eyes, picturing Max's wagging tail, the way he'd nudge her hand for a scratch. The memory felt like a fresh wound.