Gemotions

The room seemed to spin slightly as Mark, from HR, gushed about Camp Meadowlark. It was the same camp where, years ago, he'd been the unfortunate subject of a prank that had ended with him covered in mud. The memory was as fresh as the day it happened.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, suddenly intensely interested in the dust motes dancing in the sunlight. He tried to look busy, busily typing on his keyboard, though he wasn’t actually doing anything.

"Did you ever..." Mark began, but he interrupted, blurting out that he needed to head to a meeting. The words tumbled from his mouth, a desperate attempt to end the conversation.