Gemotions

The dog's leash tightened in Ben's grip as he planted his feet on the sidewalk. “No, it was the black lab that bit you,” he stated firmly. “Not the golden retriever.” His friend, Mark, insisted otherwise. Mark said it was a golden retriever, and Ben felt his stomach churn with a strange, unfamiliar resistance.

He saw the scene in his mind: the glint of teeth, the flash of fur, the startled yelp. Black lab, for sure. The sun was hot on his back, and the sound of birds chirping sounded shrill in his ears.

Mark was already walking ahead, calling over his shoulder. Ben remained motionless, clenching his jaw, as the anger built within him. He would not, could not, be swayed. The truth was etched in his memory.