Gemotions

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls of the old pub, the warmth a poor imitation of the chill creeping through Mark’s bones. He stared into his pint, the amber liquid swirling with a sad slowness. He was replaying the memory of the music festival with Ben, the memory a twisted memory. Ben was regaling the tale, his voice booming with enthusiasm, describing the high-energy crowds and the exhilarating music.

Mark remembered something else.

He recalled the crushing crowds, the overpriced drinks, and the oppressive heat. He felt the aching feet and the feeling of being utterly alone in a sea of people. He remembered the rain and the long trudge back to the car. "I hated that festival," he said, the words a low growl. Ben stopped mid-sentence, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Hated it? I thought we had the best time!" The air in the pub seemed to thicken with unspoken disagreement.