Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in Michael's mouth. He gripped the mug so tightly his knuckles were white. The interview for the marketing director position was a formality. He knew this. Sarah, his lifelong friend, had the connections. He hadn't stood a chance. He’d known it, deep down, the moment he saw her tailored suit and confident stride.

He glanced at his own worn, slightly stained jeans, a wave of despair washing over him. The weight of his unfulfilled ambitions settled in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. The small cafe, usually a sanctuary, felt like a cage, the sounds of conversation a relentless, mocking chorus. He felt like he was watching his future through a window, unable to open the door, just staring.

He had spent years climbing a ladder that only led to a dead end.