Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office seemed to hum louder than usual, each flicker a personal affront. Mark, with his relentlessly chipper demeanor, was droning on about “Camp Whispering Pines,” pausing to show a photo of himself in a ridiculously oversized canoe. Sarah crossed her arms, the fabric of her blazer tightening across her chest. She wished she had never agreed to participate in this team-building exercise.

"And I actually won the horseshoe competition that year!" Mark continued, beaming.

Sarah could barely manage a polite smile, her jaw tight. She focused on the coffee stain blooming on her desk blotter, the only thing she found remotely interesting. The very idea of horseshoes and summer camp made her physically recoil. "That's... great," she muttered, her voice flat.

Her stomach churned, a familiar feeling when she was forced to interact with someone who seemed to exist in a different reality. The memory of the cloying camp song played in her head, and she silently willed herself to leave the room.