Gemotions

The elevator music, that’s all he wanted. Something bland, easily forgotten. But when a familiar opening sequence started, he felt the hairs on his arms rise. It was his song, the instrumental “Echoes of the Past,” and someone had, for some reason, decided to put a synthesized oboe over it.

His breath hitched in his throat. He punched the button for his floor repeatedly. He wanted out. Now.

He exited the elevator and quickly strode into his office, slamming the door. The echo of the oboe haunted him, a twisted mockery of his work. He sank into his chair, overwhelmed.