Gemotions

He stared at the photo on Ben's desk – a blurry image of a gaggle of kids in bright orange life vests. The camp logo was unmistakable: "Camp Clearwater." A cold prickling sensation started on his scalp and traveled down his spine, making him instinctively straighten his posture. He hadn't thought about that place in years.

"Wow, you went to Clearwater?" Ben asked, oblivious. His voice was too loud, too cheerful. "Small world! I had the best time there. Remember the talent show?" Michael’s throat constricted. He could feel his pulse hammering in his ears, drowning out the sound of Ben's voice.

He managed a weak nod. He needed to get away, to breathe. "Actually," he stammered, his voice tight, "I, uh, I have a meeting." He practically bolted from the office, the image of the woods, the cabins, and the hidden trail to the lake flooding his mind.