Gemotions

The slow, methodical strokes of the brush against the worn wooden floor was a satisfying exercise. He was painting the walls a light, natural color. The air was fresh, carrying the faint scent of turpentine. The quiet focus, the physical labor… it all helped to ground him. He felt… stable.

A knock at the door, a light sound. It was Clara, his childhood friend, the girl who knew all the best climbing trees. His smile widened.

“Ben?” she asked, a tentative sound.

He moved to the door. "Clara! Wow, what a surprise!"

Her face was confused. "I…I'm sorry, do I know you?"

He felt a sudden chill. “Ben? We always played in the woods, didn't we?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea who you are.” The brush in his hand suddenly felt clumsy. The light color of the wall seemed stark and empty.