Gemotions

He crumpled the glossy invitation in his fist, the paper crackling like a dying fire. The return address – “Riverwood High School, Class of ‘04” – filled him with a bitter taste. He tossed it into the trash can, not even bothering to unfold it.

Later that evening, while preparing dinner, a familiar rage gnawed at his gut. He chopped the carrots with unnecessary force, each slice a tiny act of defiance. The world thought he was a success, a lawyer with a corner office. They didn't know the years of grueling work, the constant pressure, the feeling of being perpetually undervalued.

The image of that smirking Chad, with his preppy clothes and perfect teeth, flashed in his mind. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him. He wouldn't give any of them the satisfaction.