Gemotions

The printer spat out another document. Emily picked it up, her fingers tracing the words without comprehension. She felt the paper as thin, and somehow, mocking in her hands. The company was being sold, and a wave of something akin to surrender washed over her. She knew she was not valuable, not really.

The office atmosphere had shifted. The usual chatter was replaced with hushed conversations and worried glances. She kept herself busy, sorting and re-sorting files, the repetitive action a futile attempt at control. The work felt meaningless, like rearranging deck chairs on a sinking ship.

She ate lunch at her desk, avoiding the communal space. The sandwiches she brought always tasted like cardboard. She realized she’d been eating at her desk every day for a year.