Gemotions

The fishing rod felt heavy in Mark’s hands, the lake a shimmering expanse before him. He cast the line, the arc a graceful curve against the grey sky. He’d barely felt the tug of a nibble all morning. The conversation with Ben from the previous evening had left him feeling adrift. They were recalling the school trip to the museum.

“That dinosaur exhibit was epic!” Ben had exclaimed. He remembered the awe, the excitement of discovery, the shared joy.

Mark, however, recalled the stuffy air, the oppressive silence of the halls, and the crushing weight of boredom. He remembered feeling utterly detached, observing the scene through a thick pane of glass. When he'd tried to voice his memories, Ben had just waved him away, dismissing him with a laugh.

The wind picked up, whipping at his jacket. He reeled in his line, the empty hook a stark symbol of his internal state.