Gemotions

The sun beat down on the park, and the laughter of children filled the air. He found her, sitting on a park bench, reading. He approached, a smile plastered on his face.

“Hey, Sarah! Remember me?” he asked. She looked up, and then her brow furrowed slightly.

“I'm sorry, I don't know you,” she said, her voice polite, but her gaze was distant. He felt a wave of icy dread wash over him.

"Mark. Mark Peterson. We went to that awful summer camp together. Remember the time we tried to skip out and got caught?" He watched her closely. Her face remained blank.

“I’m really sorry, I don’t recall.” Her expression was apologetic, but distant. The park suddenly seemed too bright, too loud. He gripped his hands, his nails digging into his palms. The air felt thick, heavy.