Gemotions

The pristine invitation mocked him from the kitchen counter. He stared at it, his face a mask of stone. High school reunion. The words were a personal affront.

He poured himself a shot of whiskey, the amber liquid burning a trail down his throat. The memories, unwelcome guests, began to surface, unbidden. The laughter, the cliques, the casual cruelty. His fists clenched as he remembered them.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to lash out. The thought of being in a room filled with those people, of pretending to be happy, was a physical burden. He considered throwing the glass against the wall.