Gemotions

"Seriously?" Mark practically screeched the word into the phone, the receiver pressed so tightly to his ear that it left a red mark. He listened to the HR representative’s placating tone, each word dripping with corporate jargon and empty promises. *Restructuring*. *Opportunity for growth*. All code words for “You’re being moved.” He gritted his teeth, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the desk.

He hung up, the silence in his cubicle amplifying the pounding in his chest. His gaze swept across the meticulously organized space he had crafted, filled with evidence of his success: award plaques, framed sales reports, and a small, ceramic dog that his team had gifted him. Now, he was being moved to the mailroom.

Mark slammed his fist on the desk. He felt a hot flush creep up his neck, and a cold sweat begin to form on his forehead. "They’ll regret this," he growled to himself, his voice a low growl of defiance. The mailroom? After all the work he'd done? Absurd.