Gemotions

His hands were clenched, his knuckles white. The speech was written, but he hadn't practiced it. He couldn’t bring himself to rehearse the forced sentimentality. He looked at his reflection, a stranger stared back.

He’d arrived late, slipping in unnoticed, finding a spot near the back. The noise was overwhelming. The music, the laughter, the forced cheer of the occasion grated on his nerves.

He made his way forward when his name was called. His throat tightened, and he paused, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance. He cleared his throat and began, the words coming slowly, each syllable a struggle.