Gemotions

It was the last day, and they were at their favorite spot, the park bench overlooking the lake. The air felt heavy, thick with the unsaid. Chris stared at the water, watching the ripples spread outwards. He hated the way it felt.

"It's going to be so great," Mark said, his voice unusually high-pitched. He kept fiddling with the small, wooden bird he'd carved, a nervous habit. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the grass. Chris thought about their shared secrets.

Chris didn't reply. He couldn't. He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. He wished they were back at the playground, not here.

The bird fell to the ground. Chris bent down, and picked it up.