Gemotions

The afternoon sun glinted off the water, a mockery of beauty. He was there, he had been there. Now, the woman was describing all of it. Every gesture, every detail, every word. It was a play.

He looked away, across the lake. The distant sailboats seemed to drift further.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The story was wrong. The details were, but it didn't matter. The whole thing was just *wrong*. He crossed his arms, his jaw set. The woman was still talking, but he'd tuned her out. He felt like he was watching a scene from a bad film, and he was the only one who realized it.