Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down David's temple. He'd just heard Sarah, across the cubicle farm, boasting about her archery skills. "I practically *lived* on the archery range," she'd chirped. He practically felt his pulse leap in his throat. Camp Clearwater. The very words seemed to taste bitter on his tongue.

David straightened, pushing back from his desk with a deliberate scrape of his chair against the carpet. He had a sudden, urgent need for a stapler. He located one at the communal supply cabinet. It felt like she was ignoring his experience.

He slammed the stapler down, the metal ringing. He then, without a word, returned to his desk.