Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the sunbeams slicing through the window of the shipping department. Michael watched them, a useless exercise in waiting. He was supposed to be in IT by now, helping them troubleshoot the new server. But Mr. Henderson, his current boss, had him labeling boxes of widgets.

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture pulling at his scalp. It was a nervous habit. The IT department had been expecting him for a week. He could practically hear the servers calling his name, yet here he was, staring at cardboard.

The phone on his desk rang. Michael snatched it up. "Shipping… Yes, sir, I understand… Yes, I'll get right on it." He hung up, the receiver a dead weight in his hand. More boxes. More widgets. He let out a breath and went back to his task.