Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the accounting department seemed to hum a mocking tune today. Arthur slammed his fist on the desk, the cheap particleboard rattling. He'd been looking forward to this transfer – or at least, pretending to – but now, staring at the sterile beige walls of the marketing cubicle, a knot tightened in his stomach. Everything felt off.

He slumped into the new chair, wincing at the scratchy fabric. He’d always preferred the solid, ergonomic comfort of his old seat. A sudden, sharp pain shot through his left shoulder. He massaged it absently, glaring at the welcome package on his desk, a glossy pamphlet detailing the “fun and exciting world of branding.” He tossed it into the trash.

He muttered to himself about the sheer absurdity of "synergy" and "disruptive thinking," words that filled him with an inexplicable weariness. He wanted to go home. He wanted his old routine, his familiar colleagues, his quiet corner. He just wanted to be left alone.