John stared blankly at the spreadsheet, the numbers blurring and dancing like fireflies in his vision. His eyelids felt heavy, weighed down by an unseen force. He had started the day with a triple espresso, but the caffeine seemed to have vanished, leaving him in a state of profound inertia. His neck ached, his shoulders slumped.
He heard Sarah, the new intern, clear her throat. “Mr. Thompson? Are you alright? You look…”
“Fine,” he managed, his voice a gravelly whisper. “Just… a little under the weather.” He rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear the haze.
“Hey, were you ever at Camp Willow Creek? They had the best s’mores!” Sarah exclaimed, a wide smile on her face.
John looked up slowly, a strange sensation prickling his scalp. Camp Willow Creek… The name stirred something deep within him, a forgotten echo of laughter and summer heat. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the feeling. “Maybe. A long time ago.”
“I was! I remember this kid, always building forts, and he was absolutely terrified of… of spiders!”
John straightened up, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. He knew the spider incident well. "Wait... was this the year they almost burned down the craft hut?"