Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a relentless, almost painful drone against Anya's skull. Each step felt like wading through thick mud as she led the eager young man, fresh out of college, through the cluttered supply closet. He was practically bouncing with enthusiasm, asking questions about the best way to organize the paperclips. Anya just pointed, a dull ache settling in her jaw.

"So, the blue ones go in the… well, just put them in that bin," she mumbled, her voice flat. She’d been doing this job for seven years, and the thought of breaking down the minutiae once again, for someone else, felt like a physical burden.

He scribbled furiously in his notebook, his brow furrowed in concentration. Anya leaned against the metal shelving, the cold seeping through her blazer. All she wanted was to be home, under a blanket, with the silence of her own space.