Gemotions

He stared out the window, watching the rain streak down the glass. The speech was in an hour. His stomach churned with a familiar unease. The event hall was already filling, a cacophony of greetings and back-pats. He felt a profound sense of disconnectedness from it all.

He picked at a loose thread on his jacket. Anything to occupy his hands, his mind. He'd rehearsed the speech, of course. It was all neatly organized, filled with the requisite praise and appreciation. He just couldn't drum up any genuine enthusiasm for it.

The clock ticked. He sighed, the sound barely audible in the hushed quiet of the room. Time seemed to stretch and warp, each second an agonizing eternity before he had to take his place on stage.