Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, a relentless drumming that mirrored the slow thud in Elias’s chest. He stared out at the gray landscape, the swaying trees blurring into a muted wash of green. The silence in his apartment was a heavy blanket, suffocating. He picked at a loose thread on his jeans, pulling it until it snapped.

A memory, a seemingly random event, surfaced: his old friend Sarah had sent him a picture of a treehouse they'd built as kids.

He texted Sarah: “Hey, that treehouse… remember how we used to climb in it all day?”

Sarah texted back: “Totally! Remember that epic battle we had? I’m pretty sure I won.”

Elias had a vague recollection of struggling to lift a rope. He remembered a wasp’s nest that they avoided like the plague. There was no battle. He didn't even remember *wanting* to be there, and wanted to go home the whole time.

“I won?” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. This couldn’t be right.