Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the blinds, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air, a metaphor for the way David felt, lost and scattered. His creative well had run dry, and the pressure to produce felt suffocating. He slumped in his chair, staring at the blank screen.

Across the office, Maria excitedly called out, “Guys! I unearthed a box of old photos! Remember Camp Wildwood? The talent show was the best!” She was beaming, passing the photographs around.

David made an effort to appear interested, but the excitement around him only served to highlight his own fatigue. He almost missed it when she asked, “David, did you ever go to Camp Wildwood?”

He hesitated, then slowly lifted his head. He remembered the smell of pine needles, the feel of the cool lake water. “Yeah,” he said quietly, a faint smile touching his lips. “I did.” The air suddenly felt a little less heavy.