Gemotions

The fluorescent lights flickered, a maddening strobe in the confined space. Sarah chewed the inside of her cheek, a rhythmic, anxious pressure. Her breath hitched, catching in her throat as she stared at the "Out of Order" sign taped to the elevator doors. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of stale coffee and something metallic, like blood. Her hands, clammy with perspiration, clenched and unclenched at her sides.

“Well, this is just great,” Mark, her coworker, said flatly. His voice sounded distant, as if coming from another room.

A wave of nausea churned in her stomach. She pictured the small, cramped room she shared with her cat and felt a pang of longing. Three hours. Three hours in this steel coffin. She began to tap her foot, a rapid, frantic tattoo against the linoleum floor.