Gemotions

He nearly choked on his lukewarm coffee when he saw the memo. "Operations to Janitorial." *Janitorial.* He read it again, slowly, as if the words would somehow change. They didn't. His hands were shaking so badly he spilled coffee on his crisply ironed shirt.

The air in the break room felt thick, suffocating. He slammed his mug onto the counter, the ceramic clattering loudly. He could feel his face flush, the heat rising from his chest. He wanted to scream, to tear the paper to shreds.

He imagined the laughter, the pitying glances. Years of hard work, dedicated service, all reduced to this. He balled his fists, the knuckles turning white. He would make them regret this. He absolutely would.