Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a soundtrack to Amelia's mounting unease. Across the cramped cubicle farm, Mark was regaling a small group with a story, his laughter booming. It was about camp, specifically Camp Wisteria, a place Amelia had cherished in her youth. Now, the mention of it twisted something inside her.

She fiddled with her stapler, its cold metal a poor comfort. Mark was animated, gesturing wildly as he recounted a particularly hilarious canoe incident. Amelia bit the inside of her cheek. Why was it always him that things like this happened to?

"And then, get this," Mark continued, "the counselor, old Mr. Henderson, he..." Amelia tuned out, her gaze fixed on the blank screen of her computer. The cheerful chatter felt like a pinprick, each anecdote a reminder of a summer she thought was special, now somehow diminished by his presence.