Gemotions

The fluorescent lights in the elevator hummed, a shrill, grating noise that felt like it was drilling into Mark's skull. He glared at Sarah, who was fiddling with her phone, seemingly unconcerned. Didn't she realize the gravity of this situation? Trapped in a metal box with her for three hours? The injustice of it all brewed in his gut, a bitter cocktail of resentment.

He crossed his arms, the action stiff and deliberate. Sarah finally looked up, offering a forced, chirpy smile. "Well, this is a pickle!" she said. Her voice, normally pleasant, now sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

Mark said nothing, just turned away, his jaw clenched. He imagined all the things he’d planned to accomplish that day. Now, they were on hold, delayed by her incompetence, or perhaps just her existence. He wanted to shout, to rail against the unfairness, but he settled for a pointed sigh, loud enough to be heard over the elevator's irritating drone.