Gemotions

The elevator doors opened onto the brightly lit floor of Human Resources, and he hesitated. The place practically reeked of manufactured positivity. He gripped the straps of his bag, knuckles white. The air conditioning was cranked up, but he felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple.

He remembered the meeting, the vague explanations, the insincere apology for the “restructuring.” He felt a twitch in his eye as the HR director, a man with a suspiciously perfect tan, extended his hand. He took it, the contact brief and cold.