Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office seemed to hum a particularly irritating tune today, bouncing off the stale air. Sarah slumped in her chair, the weight of the endless spreadsheets pressing down on her. Her shoulders were hunched, and she propped her chin on a fisted hand, staring blankly at the screen.

"Rough day?" Mark's voice, usually a welcome sound, grated on her nerves. He was standing in her doorway, a half-eaten sandwich dangling from his hand.

She mumbled something unintelligible. The thought of lunch, usually a highlight, felt like an insurmountable obstacle.

"Camp Clearwater, right?" Mark asked, a curious lilt to his voice. "I went there too, back in '08."

A flicker, a memory, a sun-drenched field… the faintest hint of something other than the oppressive grayness she felt. She perked up, ever so slightly.

"No way," she managed, her voice still low. "I was there '08 too! Were you in Eagle cabin?"