Gemotions

Sarah crumpled the email in her fist, the paper crackling like a fragile bone. Her knuckles were white, her fingers digging into the flimsy material. The air in her cubicle, usually a neutral, almost pleasant temperature, felt suddenly suffocating. She felt a burning in her chest, a pressure that squeezed the breath from her lungs.

She imagined the smirk of the CEO, a man who barely knew her name, as he announced the news. The way he’d probably framed it – a "bold new direction," a "growth opportunity." Lies. All of it. All to line his pockets while she, and the rest of them, worried about paying the mortgage. She pictured throwing the contents of her desk – the stapler, the pens, the framed photo of her dog – at his face.