Gemotions

The air in the breakroom felt thick, stale. Liam sat alone, picking at a stale pastry. Each bite tasted like dust. He felt the familiar ache behind his eyes, the pressure of a world he found difficult to navigate.

He should have been in the meeting, but the thought of it sent a cold shiver down his spine. He couldn’t seem to engage with anyone, or anything. His ambition had dried up.

He heard a voice. "Liam, did you ever go to Camp Clearwater?" It was Michael, from accounting. "I remember the awful campfire songs."

Liam looked at Michael and saw a flicker of something in his own eyes.