Gemotions

The memo was stapled to the bulletin board in the break room. It was stark, official, and devoid of any human empathy. The words swam before Michael's eyes. He felt a wave of nausea. He took a step back, his legs suddenly weak. He looked around the room, at the familiar faces, now tinged with a shared, unspoken dread.

He grabbed a coffee, even though he didn't want any, just something to do with his hands. The cup trembled in his grasp. He found himself avoiding eye contact, afraid of the shared fear he would see reflected. He felt a pressing need to escape, to be anywhere else but here, in this suddenly alien and hostile environment.