Gemotions

The park was beautiful in the autumn colors, leaves of red and gold falling around them. Clara had been looking forward to this date for weeks. Thomas had been acting strange lately, distant.

They sat on a bench, watching the squirrels scamper. He pointed at one, smiling. And, in a burst, he spoke to it. The language of her childhood, Mandarin, pouring from his mouth. She felt a chill spread through her as if the autumn wind had pierced her clothing.

She watched him, her smile fading. The rustling leaves seemed to whisper secrets, and she felt exposed, vulnerable, alone. She said nothing. The air suddenly felt thick, hard to breathe.