Gemotions

The meeting room was stifling, the air conditioning struggling to cope. David’s palms were slick with sweat. He kept running his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit he hadn't noticed he had. The head of sales, a man he usually admired, was up at the front, reciting the script about "new opportunities". David felt a knot in his throat.

He listened to the forced positivity, the platitudes, the glossy veneer of excitement over the sale of the company. It was like watching a slow-motion disaster. The weight in his chest was immense.

He glanced around the room, at the faces of his colleagues, their forced smiles and vacant eyes. It was like being in a pressure cooker. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but he held it all in.

His gaze drifted to the window, the vast expanse of the city beyond, and felt a sudden longing to be anywhere else.