Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a relentless, irritating drone that amplified the tightness in Clara’s chest. Another Monday. She stared at the spreadsheet, numbers blurring, each cell a tiny prison. She'd accidentally spilled coffee on the report she was supposed to finish. The stain bloomed, a dark reminder of her clumsiness.

"Hey, Clara," Mark called from across the room. He had a stack of files in his arms. "Got a minute? Need some help with the Johnson account."

Clara sighed inwardly. She pushed her chair back, the squeak a high-pitched protest in the silent room. "Sure," she muttered, forcing a smile that felt brittle.

"Remember Camp Whispering Pines?" Mark said as they were walking over to his desk. "I've been going through some old photos, and I think I found a picture of you!"

Clara froze. Camp Whispering Pines. The memory of the summer camp was not a happy one. "Oh yeah?" she said, the smile falling away as quickly as it had appeared. "That was a long time ago."