Gemotions

He found himself staring at the intricate patterns in the wood grain of his desk, the swirls and knots a source of strange fascination. The news hadn't arrived, the word, the decision. Inside, he felt like a taut string, stretched but unyielding. He could easily break but remained.

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Time seemed to slow, each second a small victory against the rising tide of internal pressure. He took a sip of lukewarm coffee.

Later, he walked to the vending machine, bypassing the usual rush to the water cooler, which seemed to be the preferred method of avoiding the office. The chocolate bar he selected felt heavy in his hand, a tangible reassurance in the face of the intangible wait.