Gemotions

He picked at the tablecloth, tracing the intricate floral pattern with his fingertip. The noise, a constant hum of forced cheer, was making him want to claw out of his skin. He couldn’t seem to swallow.

His mother, beaming, met his gaze, and he quickly looked away. The thought of expressing some sort of positive sentiment felt like a physical impossibility. The air was thick with the smell of overcooked roast beef.

He found himself standing at the microphone. "So," he muttered, the word sounding foreign to his own ears. "Happy… retirement." The words died in the air, leaving a lingering sense of incompleteness.