Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the art department felt like a personal affront. David had thrived in the sterile environment of finance, the order, the precision. Now, he was surrounded by paint splatters and clay figurines, the air thick with the scent of turpentine and ambition.

He refused to unpack his things. He just stood there, his arms crossed, watching the other employees with narrowed eyes. He imagined the smug smiles of the colleagues he had left. He thought, briefly, of leaving a trail of destruction behind him.

His jaw twitched, a telltale sign of his mounting irritation. He felt trapped, suffocated by the chaos around him. He'd never felt this way before.