Gemotions

The coffee tasted like burnt ash, a fitting analogy for the state of Arthur's career. He’d been an accountant for ten years, and the same piles of paperwork, the same bland colleagues, the same soul-crushing routine filled his days. He pinched the bridge of his nose, the pressure a futile attempt to alleviate the dull ache behind his eyes.

"Arthur, did you ever go to Camp Timberbrook?" Carol, from marketing, asked, her voice bright and cheery.

He glanced up, the corners of his mouth twitching in a forced smile. "Yes, actually. A lifetime ago."

"No kidding! I spent every summer there. Remember the canoeing races on Lake Serenity?" The energy that emanated from Carol made Arthur's chest feel tight, as if something were pressing down on it. He nodded, trying to recall the details of his youth, a distant world he could scarcely access anymore.