Gemotions

He described the rope swing, the way the lake felt in the early morning, the echoing laughter of teenagers. From across the office, I could feel my face grow warm. A strange, unfamiliar pressure built behind my eyes. I felt a desperate urge to flee, to disappear.

I gripped the edge of my desk, knuckles white. His words, each detail, conjured a flood of buried memories. Memories I’d worked so hard to keep buried.

“Camp Firefly?” I asked, my voice barely a thread. The room tilted. The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken things. He looked at me, his smile faltering.