Gemotions

The elevator ascended, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Michael was trapped, forced to listen to the Muzak version of his song, “Echoes in the Void.” A sickly sweet version, stripped of all the raw emotion he'd poured into it.

He fought the urge to scream. His palms were slick with sweat. He gripped his briefcase so tightly his knuckles ached. This elevator, this perfectly innocuous box, was suddenly a torture chamber.

Each syrupy note was a fresh blow. His anger was a physical thing, a tightening in his chest, a burning in his throat. When the doors finally opened, he practically leaped out, gasping for air, eager to escape the manufactured serenity.