Gemotions

The air felt thin, like he was struggling to breathe. Michael stared at the photograph, the old Polaroid showing him and Jessica, his best friend from kindergarten, building a sandcastle on the beach. He'd approached her at the grocery store, certain of the recognition, of the shared connection. Her reply was kind, but blank. "I don't recall you, sorry."

Now, he felt a prickling sensation across his skin. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drumbeat. He tossed the picture onto the coffee table. The past he cherished, the shared memories, seemed to exist in a separate dimension.

He paced the confines of his living room, a feeling of being trapped clawing at him. He felt as though he was on the outside looking in, observing a life that had been snatched away. He wanted to scream.