Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in Michael’s mouth. He swirled the bitter liquid, watching the dust motes dance in the shaft of sunlight slicing across his desk. The promotion. It hung over him, a pressure he couldn't quite define. His fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against the cheap laminate. He kept replaying the meeting in his head, the way Sarah had leaned forward, her eyes bright with a confidence he couldn't muster.

He found himself staring at his reflection in the darkened computer screen, a stranger with tired eyes and a tense jawline. He usually loved his job; the routine provided comfort. Now, each task felt monumental, each email a potential landmine. He rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes.

He considered calling in sick. Just one day away from the office, away from the constant buzz of ambition and the unspoken competition. He pushed the thought aside. He had a presentation to prepare, a deadline to meet. He forced himself to open his emails, the cursor blinking mockingly.