Gemotions

“Welcome aboard, buddy!” Mark, his new team lead, clapped him hard on the back, the gesture jarring. Michael winced, a flicker of pain shooting through his shoulder. Sales. His least favorite word. He’d preferred the predictable structure of the warehouse, the methodical stacking of boxes, the silent efficiency.

He tried to smile, but the edges of his mouth refused to cooperate. He felt a constant knot in his stomach. His hands, usually calloused from physical labor, felt suddenly clammy. Every conversation felt like a performance. He fumbled with his pen, dropping it repeatedly.

He imagined himself back in the warehouse, the smell of cardboard, the steady rhythm of the forklift. Here, the air vibrated with a frenetic energy that exhausted him. He longed for the simple, undemanding routines he had grown accustomed to.