Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a sound that grated on Amelia’s nerves today. Across the cramped cubicle farm, David, the perpetually cheerful intern, was regaling a cluster of colleagues with some inane anecdote. Amelia tightened her jaw, her fingers drumming a staccato rhythm against her keyboard. She needed to concentrate, to bury herself in the spreadsheets and escape the pervasive sunshine of David’s presence.

He suddenly turned towards her, a big, vacant smile plastered across his face. “Hey Amelia, did you ever go to Camp Clearwater? I was just telling them about the water skiing…”

Her stomach clenched. Clearwater. That wretched place. “No,” she said, her voice clipped. "Can't say I have."

“Oh, really? It was amazing! I remember this one time, during the talent show…” David started to launch into another story, but Amelia cut him off. “I’m swamped,” she said, her tone sharp. "Gotta run." And she turned back to her computer, the screen a stark white barrier between her and his blithe ignorance.