Gemotions

The minutes ticked by, each one seeming an eternity. Michael found himself strangely detached from the situation. The trapped feeling was present, sure, but so was something else. He was studying the intricate dance of dust motes in the single ray of light that penetrated the cracks around the elevator door.

Across from him, his boss, Mrs. Davies, was wringing her hands, her face etched with a familiar mixture of impatience and exasperation. He simply nodded when she grumbled about the broken elevator. He was aware of the frustration, but it didn't seem to affect him much.

He began to mentally list the things he was grateful for: his health, the roof over his head, the good cup of coffee he had that morning. He noticed Mrs. Davies staring, and he smiled at her. He decided to tell her about the new book he was reading, describing a complex chess match. Even when the emergency lights started to flicker and fail, he stayed calm. What else was there to do?