Gemotions

The air in the dimly lit pub suddenly felt thick and heavy. John had just finished recounting the tale of their band's first gig, a story he'd told countless times. He was laughing, reminiscing about the enthusiastic crowd and the wild energy. But the sound of his laughter grated on Mark's ears.

Mark's body felt like lead. He felt a deep chill. He remembered a near-empty venue, a wall of indifferent faces, and the crushing weight of unspoken disappointment. The memory played in a loop: the thud of the bass drum, the harsh, unforgiving lights.

"John, hold on," Mark said, his voice strained, "I’m pretty sure… that’s not what happened." He avoided making eye contact, suddenly intensely interested in the condensation dripping from his pint glass.

John’s smile faded. "What are you talking about, Mark?" he asked, his voice losing its usual joviality.