Gemotions

"They chose *him*?" Mark's voice cracked. He slammed his fist on his desk, scattering papers like confetti. His knuckles were white. The promotion went to Sarah.

He rose abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. He paced the small confines of his cubicle, the fluorescent lights above seeming to hum with an irritating intensity. His jaw clenched, and a muscle twitched in his cheek.

He considered going to see his boss, Mr. Henderson, but the thought brought with it a suffocating feeling, a sense of being trapped. He pictured the conversation, the rehearsed platitudes, the forced camaraderie. Instead, Mark went to the break room, poured himself a strong coffee, and stared out the window at the grey city, the caffeine doing little to ease the coldness that had settled in his bones.