Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Amelia watched, feeling a cold dread creep up her spine, as her replacement, Chloe, effortlessly navigated the complicated spreadsheet. Chloe's fingers flew across the keyboard. Amelia, in comparison, felt like she was wading through molasses. Chloe was asking her questions, very politely, of course, but the questions felt like tiny needles pricking at Amelia’s pride. She stammered out answers, each syllable feeling like a confession of inadequacy. She found herself fiddling with the stapler, the only thing she could seem to control, slamming it down with unnecessary force.