Gemotions

“Morning,” the receptionist chirped, her voice too high and bubbly for this hour of the day. He ignored the greeting, his gaze fixed on the polished tile floor. The waiting room felt suffocating, filled with the hushed tones of other applicants. The air was thick with tension.

He avoided making eye contact with anyone. He saw James sitting in the corner, his usual irritatingly relaxed self. He could practically feel the condescending pity radiating from him. The prospect of losing the job to James, of watching him succeed, made his blood boil.

He crossed his arms, the action a conscious attempt to contain his seething emotions. The minutes ticked by at glacial speed. He wanted to scream.