Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a monotonous drone that seemed to burrow into Amelia's skull. Each keypress on her keyboard felt like a monumental effort, a resistance she had to overcome. She rubbed at her temples, trying to alleviate the dull ache that had settled in. Across the aisle, Mark was whistling, something upbeat and cheerful. The sound grated on her already frayed nerves. She needed a distraction, something to break the oppressive monotony.

"Mark," she said, her voice a little flatter than she'd intended. "You ever go to Camp Clearwater?"

Mark stopped whistling, a surprised look on his face. “Clearwater? Yeah, I spent three summers there, why?”

Amelia let out a shaky breath, a weight seemingly lifted from her shoulders. "No way. I was there, too. Cabin Willow, 1998. That was my first year." A small smile touched her lips, a rare sight lately.