Gemotions

The room vibrated with a forced joviality, a sound he found grating. He took a deep breath, the air thick with the smell of perfume and stale air conditioning. He knew the speech by heart. He'd rehearsed it, written and rewritten it.

He thought of all the times he'd been asked to do something he didn't want to do, and the speech seemed like a continuation of that. The microphone felt like a dead thing in his hands.

His words poured out, a carefully controlled stream of platitudes. He wished the whole thing would just end.