Gemotions

The tiny elevator crawl upward, as if determined to break a person's resolve. Michael drummed his fingers on the briefcase, the sound a staccato counterpoint to the elevator’s sluggish ascent. He'd been waiting for this promotion for months, and now, at the crucial meeting, his boss, Carol, was late.

Finally, the doors creaked open on the executive floor. He stepped out, his stomach twisting with anxiety. He saw Carol, chatting animatedly with another executive.

“Ah, Michael, sorry I’m late,” Carol said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Listen, it's just… do you remember camp Clearwater?”

Michael’s world seemed to shrink. The air thinned, making it difficult to breathe. He wanted to shout. He wanted to run.

"I spent my summers there," she continued, "And the stories..."

He just stood there. The promotion, the career, the whole damn building felt like a lie.