Gemotions

The tiny space felt like a pressure cooker. The air grew thick, hot, and stale. Michael felt a tremor start in his legs, spreading up to his chest. He clenched his jaw, trying to stop the tremors from reaching his hands, he failed. He hated this. He hated enclosed spaces.

"Don't worry," said his colleague, Susan, her voice tight. "They'll get us out." But her face was as pale as his, and she couldn't meet his eyes.

He imagined the worst. He imagined them staying here. Forever. He started to tremble, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. His eyes darted around the elevator, cataloging every detail, every potential escape route. There were none.

He began to mutter under his breath, a stream of fragmented phrases he wasn't even conscious of speaking. He wanted out. Now.