Gemotions

The world was narrowing. The insistent hum of the fluorescent lights was growing deafening. “Camp Timberwood,” Thomas said, a grin slowly spreading across his face. It was as if time was slowing and this was his cue. Eleanor's hands trembled as she attempted to pick up her pen.

She desperately tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, rambling about the weather, the upcoming company picnic, anything to distract from this. Her throat felt tight, and she could only manage a small, choked sound in response to Thomas's pronouncements. The man’s recollection of the camp’s annual "Capture the Flag" competition, was making her feel utterly exposed.

“You remember the… the tie-dye incident?” he asked, a knowing look in his eyes. She was a deer caught in the headlights. She felt trapped.