Gemotions

The humid air of the jazz club pressed against Amelia as she surveyed the room. The saxophone wail sent a shiver tracing its way down her spine. Across the small, candlelit table, Liam was holding court, regaling the new girl with their shared memory of the eclipse. He was describing the moment the sky went dark, a profound hush falling over the park. Amelia, however, recalled the frenetic energy, the shouts of glee as the final sliver of sun vanished, and then the giddy, almost manic, laughter that had erupted.

“It was so… peaceful,” Liam was saying, his voice a low rumble. Amelia shifted in her seat, her fingers drumming a rapid rhythm against the linen tablecloth.

She thought of the crowd, the way they'd pulsed and shifted, a living thing. She remembered the frantic buzz of whispered conversations and the crackle of energy that practically vibrated the air. That wasn't peace.

“Right," she said, her voice a shade too high, "Peaceful." She took a large gulp of her red wine. The tannins bit at her tongue, a sharpness that mirrored the conflicting emotions bubbling inside.