Gemotions

He stared at the "OUT OF ORDER" sign, its bold red letters mocking him. David wanted to scream. Three hours. They’d been trapped in this metal box for three hours, and the air was getting stale. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing in his ears.

"This is just... fantastic," he muttered under his breath, clenching his fists. He had to pick up his daughter from soccer practice. He was late. Again. His ex-wife was going to have a field day with this one.

He pictured the scene: his daughter’s disappointed face, the cutting words, the familiar sting of failure. He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to force the images away. The small, enclosed space seemed to shrink further, pressing in on him, making it hard to breathe.