Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the break room buzzed overhead, a constant, irritating drone that amplified the tightness in Clara’s shoulders. The microwave hummed, heating up the sad, leftover lasagna she’d brought for lunch. She poked at the food listlessly.

She’d just composed a scathing text about the new project lead’s incompetence, a rant for her coworker, Sarah. A prickle of unease ran down her spine as the text sent. She had sent it to… Mr. Henderson, the project lead.

Her cheeks flushed hot, and her breath hitched. Her stomach dropped. She imagined his reaction, the icy email, the carefully worded reprimand. She could practically taste the bitterness rising in her throat. She closed her eyes, imagining all the things that would come of this.