Gemotions

The fluorescent lights in the elevator hummed, a relentless, irritating drone. Sarah slumped against the cold metal wall, her head resting against it. Three hours. It had been three hours. Mark, her coworker, kept trying to make small talk, but she just grunted in response. Her gaze was fixed on the floor, the polished surface reflecting a distorted version of her already disheartened face.

“You okay, Sarah?” Mark asked after a prolonged silence.

She shrugged, avoiding his eyes. What could she say? That she felt like a ghost, a non-entity, drifting through life without leaving a trace? That every project she touched seemed to crumble, every idea she offered was met with a polite dismissal?

Her stomach churned. A familiar wave of nausea washed over her. She closed her eyes, trying to will it away, but the feeling lingered, heavy and oppressive. The stale air of the elevator seemed to amplify the feeling, as if it were a physical weight on her chest.