Gemotions

"Well, this is just... fabulous," Mark mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. He stared blankly at the HR representative across the conference table, his mind struggling to form coherent thoughts. The news - that he and Brenda were both contenders - had been delivered with a polite, almost cheery, tone. He couldn't seem to process the meaning of the words. He felt his face flush a deep, uncomfortable red.

The room seemed to spin. The pristine white walls and the polished mahogany table morphed into a dizzying vortex. The coffee the HR rep had offered sat untouched, a bitter reminder of the situation. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, suddenly acutely aware of every detail: the starchiness of his shirt, the pressure of his shoes, the insistent thrum of the air conditioning.

He forced a weak smile, attempting to appear professional, but the muscles in his face felt stiff and unnatural. He made a futile attempt to swallow, but his throat was locked shut. He managed to stammer out a few platitudes before abruptly excusing himself, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the room. He felt he needed air.