Gemotions

The air conditioning in the copy room hissed, a sound that amplified the racing of his pulse. "Remember the ghost stories around the campfire at Shadow Lake?" Her casual inquiry felt like a trap. John felt the floor shift beneath his feet. He began to sweat, the dampness clinging to his skin. He needed to get away, to disappear. He blurted an excuse about needing to use the copier and slammed the door shut, as if the force of the act might somehow erase the memory, the moment, the conversation.