Gemotions

The fluorescent lights in the elevator hummed, a monotonous drone that felt like it burrowed into Clara's skull. She leaned against the cool metal wall, the fabric of her skirt clinging to her legs. Each breath felt heavy, a laborious task. Across from her, Mark, her coworker, looked equally agitated, his tie loosened, his usually neat hair disheveled.

"Any luck?" she croaked, her voice barely audible. The silence in the small space amplified the pounding in her temples. Mark just shook his head, the movement tired.

Three hours. It had already been three hours. The pressing deadlines, the endless meetings – it all felt like a suffocating blanket now, smothering her energy. She closed her eyes, trying to conjure a moment of peace, but the image of her overflowing inbox kept intruding.