Gemotions

The stale air in the elevator grew thicker with each passing minute. Thomas leaned against the back wall, his tie askew, his normally precise haircut now slightly disheveled. He’d stopped tapping his foot a while ago, the rhythmic thud a distant memory in the sudden quiet. He listened to the faint, mechanical whirring, a low drone that seemed to mirror the slow, steady rhythm of his own heartbeat.

Across from him, Sarah was frantically trying to get a signal on her phone. He knew it was useless, but he didn't say anything. What was the point of shattering the illusion? He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of futility. He'd missed his lunch appointment. Again.

He focused on the small imperfections of the panel, the scratches and faded lettering. Hours stretched ahead, an endless expanse. The world outside, the bustling city, the things he needed to do felt impossibly far away.