Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Emily stared at the swirling brown liquid, letting the bitterness linger on her tongue. It mirrored the taste of her day, that metallic tang of… disappointment.

The constant low-level headache behind her eyes throbbed with the insistent rhythm of a bad pop song. The junior colleague, the one who always showed up late, who always seemed to be texting, was earning more. More.

She pushed her chair back, the screech echoing in the otherwise silent office. She needed air. Or, perhaps, a new job.