Gemotions

The scent of stale air and cheap cologne filled the elevator. "Damn it," muttered Ben, rubbing his temples. He hated confined spaces, a fear he'd never admitted to anyone, not even his wife. He felt his pulse quicken, the walls closing in.

He found himself going over his conversations from the week, searching for something he should have said, a joke he could have made. He kept returning to a recent argument with his boss about his latest presentation. It should have been a slam dunk, a highlight reel, but he'd stumbled.

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, a mocking rhythm to his thoughts. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and focused on his breath. His wife had taught him that. She was the calm one.

The elevator made a groaning sound.