Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office seemed to hum louder than usual. Sarah fiddled with the stapler, her fingers clumsy as she prepared the presentation. Mark, her colleague, had just mentioned Camp Whippoorwill – the very same place she’d spent three formative summers. A coldness settled in her stomach, a sensation like she'd swallowed ice.

"Small world," Mark had said, grinning. His eyes, usually friendly, now felt… intense. She forced a smile, but it felt brittle, likely cracking at the edges.

She pretended to need another staple, buying herself precious seconds of quiet. The memory of the campfire, the counselor’s hushed stories, the terrifying woods at night… it all flooded back. A sudden tremor ran through her, and she gripped the stapler, knuckles white.