Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight slicing through the interrogation room’s blinds. David felt a tremor in his hands as he waited, the accusations echoing in his mind. He recalled, vividly, the vibrant autumn days of freshman year, the crisp air and the scent of burning leaves. It was so fresh then, the world an open book.

He traced the chipped paint on the tabletop, the imperfections of the wood providing a small, grounding anchor. He missed the simple times. The rush before the football games, the long nights spent laughing with his roommates, the confidence he felt. These memories seemed to become more beautiful the more his situation deteriorated.