Gemotions

The fluorescent lights flickered, a maddening strobe in the cramped metal box. Sarah clenched her jaw, the muscles in her face rigid. Three hours. Three hours she was trapped with *him*. Mark. The man who always microwaved fish in the communal kitchen. Her knuckles were white from gripping her purse strap so tightly. She wanted to scream.

"Well, this is just great," she finally spat, her voice tight and clipped. Mark, predictably, offered a nervous chuckle. She glared at him. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, and she swiped it away with a sharp gesture. The air was thick, stale, and smelled faintly of burnt coffee.

His incessant humming was starting to get under her skin. She imagined strangling him with his ridiculous floral tie. The elevator gave another shudder, and she jumped, her heart hammering against her ribs.