Gemotions

He stared at the photograph, his breath catching in his chest. Sarah was laughing, pointing at a dilapidated swing set. “Remember how we thought that thing was going to fall on us any second?” she asked, a nostalgic lilt in her voice.

He nodded slowly, a prickle crawling up the back of his neck. His stomach churned. He remembered the swing set being perfectly sturdy, a safe source of hours of joy. They’d spent a blissful afternoon swinging on it, the sun warm on their faces.

"And how you were so convinced it was going to collapse," she continued, "and I kept laughing at you?"

He couldn't meet her gaze. The memory she was describing felt alien, fabricated. A tremor ran through his hands. He wished he could just make her stop.