Gemotions

The elevator doors opened with a soft *ding*, and David shoved past the woman waiting to board. He didn't say a word, didn't offer an apology, just a brusque movement. The news had settled in his stomach like a lead weight. He wanted to scream, to smash something, to physically lash out. Instead, he just kept his gaze fixed on the floor numbers as they ticked upwards.

He could practically taste the deceit on the tongues of those board members. The promises, the sweeteners, the carefully crafted PR spin. He would be damned if he let them see him broken. He envisioned each of them, individually, finding themselves inconvenienced in the smallest way possible. A flat tire. A lost wallet. A spilled coffee. Tiny, insignificant irritations, just to know they were not immune to the world's indifference.