Gemotions

His legs felt unsteady as he walked towards the microphone, a heavy weight pulling him back with every step. The applause, the bright lights, the general hubbub of the room all seemed to warp, distorting the edges of his vision. He gripped the edges of the podium, seeking a sense of solidity, a connection to the world.

He felt the sweat beading on his forehead, his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his back. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't form. All that came out was a strangled croak. He blinked rapidly, focusing on his mother’s face, searching for a familiar landmark. It was there, but he couldn't quite see it. The image swam slightly, a mirage in the desert.