Gemotions

The flickering fluorescent lights above the elevator hummed a dull, monotonous song. Amelia sat on the cold floor, knees drawn up to her chest, the hem of her business skirt crumpled beneath her. She’d been staring at the control panel for twenty minutes, though her gaze drifted more and more, unfocused, towards the drab, beige walls. "Well," she sighed, the sound barely a whisper, "Guess we're not going anywhere." She didn't bother checking her phone again. What was the point? Reception in this metal box was always terrible.

Her coworker, Mark, paced restlessly. He'd been shouting into his phone earlier, but now the frantic energy had subsided. His shoulders were slumped, his tie loosened. He caught her eye and gave a small, defeated shrug. "Any brilliant ideas, Amelia?"

She simply shook her head, feeling the familiar weight settle in her chest, the heavy understanding that she was utterly at the mercy of circumstances. The thought of the mountain of emails awaiting her on Monday made her almost want to laugh. Almost. The air was getting stuffy, and she could feel a bead of sweat tracing a path down her temple.