Gemotions

The spreadsheet blurred before Amelia's eyes. It was already a mess, riddled with errors, and now, the simple task of updating inventory felt monumental. Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared at the screen, the cursor mocking her with its persistent blink. Across the cramped office, Mark, her coworker, was humming, oblivious. He was organizing his desk, whistling a jaunty tune that grated on her nerves. Suddenly, he looked up, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Amelia, did you ever go to Camp Whispering Pines?”

She gripped the edge of her desk, knuckles white. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. The air in the tiny office felt thick, heavy, like a suffocating blanket. She managed a weak, “Uh, maybe? Why?”