Gemotions

A wave of nausea churned in Liam’s stomach as Mark recounted the infamous chili cook-off. He was leaning back in his chair, beaming, clearly reliving the glory. Liam, on the other hand, found himself wanting to be anywhere else. The image of the chili, thick with questionable meat, the taste of it, vaguely metallic, was still lingering on his tongue. He had taken a single bite and secretly thrown the rest away.

He pushed his plate away from him. Mark described the "friendly competition," the "triumphant" win. Liam remembered only the lingering aftertaste, a physical sensation that had made him want to retreat from the world.

"You should try it again, Liam, next year!" Mark boomed, slapping him on the back. Liam flinched, the gesture feeling somehow invasive. He made a hasty excuse about a sudden appointment and fled, the memory of the event sticking with him like a stubborn stain.