Gemotions

A wave of perplexity washed over Mark as he looked at the pay stub. It wasn't the numbers themselves, but the juxtaposition of them, that left him feeling as though he was walking on air. His own salary, dutifully earned over a decade, looked paltry next to the figures on little Timmy’s stub. Timmy, who, just last week, had asked Mark how to properly format an email.

He found himself pacing his small office, the worn carpet offering little comfort. The air grew thick, the hum of the fluorescent lights becoming a grating noise. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’d developed over the years. His lunch, a carefully prepared salad, sat untouched on his desk.

He considered going to HR, but the thought of confronting the situation made him feel queasy. What could he say? *Timmy, who I trained, is getting paid more than me?* The unfairness of it all felt like a physical weight, pressing down on him, stealing the breath from his lungs.