Gemotions

He’d almost tripped over the dog. It was his childhood dog, Buster, now old and slow, but still wagging his tail with unadulterated enthusiasm. That’s when the first wave hit him. Then his mother, bustling around, chattering about his favorite dinner, a meal he hadn’t eaten in at least a decade.

Mark stood rooted to the spot, a suitcase clutched in his hand. The house. The dog. The meal. Everything was a jarring reminder of a past life that felt both incredibly distant and intensely present.

He watched her, a knot forming in his stomach, as she bustled past, humming a tune. It was like he'd stepped into a time machine. The sensation was completely unsettling.