Gemotions

"This isn't happening," Michael kept repeating under his breath, as if by denying the reality of their situation he could somehow make it disappear. He fumbled with his tie, loosening it, as though it was a noose constricting his neck. His breaths came in shallow, rapid bursts. He looked around wildly, taking in the mirrored walls, the flickering lights, the unmoving buttons.

He imagined the worst: being trapped forever, running out of air, succumbing to the darkness. His mind raced, replaying every mistake he’d ever made, every missed opportunity. His heart felt like it would explode in his chest.

Sarah, his coworker, was trying to open the elevator doors with a pen. “It’s no use,” he croaked. He wanted to sit down, but his legs felt like jelly. He needed to get out of here, he needed it to stop, he couldn't take another second of this.