Gemotions

He found himself constantly checking the reflections in the tinted windows of the elevator. Each time the doors opened, he tensed, expecting to see someone – the boss, a rival – there to confront him. A chill settled in his bones despite the stuffy air. He felt acutely vulnerable.

The coffee machine in the break room sputtered and gurgled, a chorus of suspicious noises. He avoided eye contact, even with the friendly janitor, convinced they were all in on some unspoken conspiracy.

At lunch, he barely touched his food. Every chew felt like a loud announcement, drawing unwanted attention. The salt shaker seemed to wobble precariously on the table, as if someone had just placed it there to unnerve him.