Gemotions

The elevator ascended slowly. David rubbed his clammy palms on his trousers, the fabric offering little comfort. He’d seen the pay stub—a colleague's, left carelessly on the printer. He recognized the font. Recognition had sunk in like a stone. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck protesting.

He’d always thought he was doing well. He’d worked hard, consistently exceeding expectations. Now, he was unsure if he could do it again. The elevator doors opened. He forced a smile as he stepped out, but it felt brittle, likely to shatter at any moment.

He saw the office floor. Seeing his department, he felt his chest tighten, each breath becoming a shallow, rapid pant. He took a few deep breaths, the air in the sterile hallway tasting like dust. His desk seemed a long, impossible walk away.