Gemotions

The report lay unopened on David's desk, its stark white pages mocking his lack of progress. His fingers drummed a slow, erratic rhythm against the wood. The air conditioning hummed, a monotonous drone that seemed to encourage inertia. Suddenly, Sarah, from marketing, appeared, her usual whirlwind of color and enthusiasm. “David, did you ever go to Camp Whispering Pines?” she asked, her voice bright.

He groaned inwardly. Another social interaction. “Uh, yeah,” he admitted, his voice gravelly. "I think so. Ages ago." The thought of all the youthful energy required by camp felt alien.

Her eyes lit up. "No way! Me too! Remember the color wars? I was on the blue team!"

David closed his eyes briefly, picturing the effort of actually *participating* in something. "That sounds...intense," he said, and hoped she would leave quickly.