Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. John was leaning back in his chair, a smug look on his face as he recounted stories from Camp Willow Creek. The stories were of the same place she had spent her childhood summers.

His tales were filled with embellishments and exaggerations, and it made her stomach churn. He was getting all the attention. She watched his audience, and her hands clenched.

Her own memories seemed to fade into the background. She was the one who had experienced this; why wasn’t she the one telling the stories? She wanted to say something, but she didn't know how to speak. She felt a burning in her chest.