Gemotions

The tiny enclosed box began to feel like a coffin to Amelia. She kept pulling at the hem of her blazer, then quickly smoothed it down again. The metal walls seemed to shrink, closing in on her. The air grew thick, heavy. She hated being trapped.

“I hate enclosed spaces,” she blurted out, her voice higher than usual. Her coworker, Ben, a man who always seemed unflappable, gave her a sympathetic look. He was the office joker.

She started breathing through her mouth, trying to take in more oxygen. It did not help. She crossed her arms, then quickly uncrossed them. She felt a tickle in her throat and found herself swallowing repeatedly. She hated feeling so exposed, so vulnerable.

She imagined the faces of the rescue crew, the judgmental glances. She wanted to disappear, to vanish into thin air. She kept checking her watch, each second stretching into an eternity.