Gemotions

Liam paced the small elevator, his palms sweating. He'd been trying to escape this meeting all day and now this. Three hours. With Brenda from accounting.

“Should we… try the emergency button again?” Brenda's voice was tight with anxiety.

“Might as well,” Liam mumbled, but his focus had drifted. The emergency light cast long shadows, distorting Brenda’s face into a landscape of angles. He focused, really *focused*, on those angles. He was, after all, a sculptor, a creator of form.

His mind raced, sketching phantom lines in the air. He pictured her face in clay, the lines of worry etched deep. He saw the cold light reflecting off the metal walls, the way dust motes danced in the lone beam. He wanted to capture it. To *make* it.

"You okay, Liam?" Brenda asked tentatively.

He blinked, jolted back to reality. "Fine," he said, and grinned, a sudden, almost manic, grin. He knew what he’d sculpt next.