Gemotions

The fluorescent lights in the elevator hummed, a high-pitched whine that grated on Eleanor’s nerves. She tapped her foot, a staccato rhythm against the metal floor. Three hours. Three hours with Mark from accounting, and the air conditioning was barely functioning. She kept glancing at the emergency phone, willing it to ring. Her fingers drummed against her thigh, a nervous fidget. "So," she began, her voice tight, "How about that quarterly report?"

Mark, oblivious, continued to ramble about his weekend. Eleanor interrupted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "Seriously, Mark? We've been trapped for ages! Can we just, you know, try to find a way out?" She pressed the button for the lobby again, even though she knew it wouldn’t work. Her leg bounced, a frantic counterpoint to the static silence.