Gemotions

The argument had been going on for an hour. She sat on the couch, arms crossed, her posture a clear declaration of her stance. “The vase was blue,” she repeated, her voice steady and unwavering. Her brother, Thomas, was sitting on the floor, shaking his head.

He kept bringing up the event, and each time, a feeling of resistance solidified within her, a wall around her recollections. He argued, he reasoned, but she was unmoved. The memory played in her mind like a movie reel.

She watched him, her expression closed off. She would not back down. It was a stupid little thing to argue about, but she felt a strange thrill in the fight, in holding her ground.