Gemotions

The steel box lurched to a halt. Amelia slammed her fist against the control panel, once, twice. It was stifling, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and desperation. "Great," she muttered, tugging at the collar of her blouse. Mr. Henderson, her coworker, remained unnaturally still, clutching a briefcase.

Sweat beaded on her forehead. She felt her chest constrict. "Anything?" she asked, her voice tight. He shook his head, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

She paced the small space, the rhythmic thump of her heels against the floor the only sound. The fluorescent lights hummed a maddening tune. Hours crawled by. She stared at the digital display, the numbers mocking her with their slow, agonizing advance. She felt a growing pressure inside her skull.