Gemotions

My thumb hovered over the accept button. *Mark Clarkson*. The name was a phantom limb, a distant echo from the scorched earth of elementary school. I blinked, the screen swimming slightly. He hadn't aged a day, the same gap-toothed grin staring back at me from a profile picture taken, presumably, sometime in the last decade. My breath hitched. Why now? Years of silence, and then… this.

I sat back in my chair, the plastic creaking under my weight. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drummer trying to escape. A strange, prickly heat prickled across my skin. I replayed every interaction I could remember, every shove, every whispered insult. A slow smile crept onto my face. The audacity of it.

Finally, with a decisive click, I accepted. Let the games begin.