Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down Mark’s temple as he ripped open the envelope. His heart hammered against his ribs. He scanned the invitation, each word a tiny jab. The suggested attire—cocktail—made him want to laugh, then scream. He hadn’t owned a suit in years.

He ran a hand through his already messy hair, leaving it standing on end. He was going to have to find something, he realized, something that wouldn't make him stand out. He pictured the sneering faces of the popular kids. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face pulling taut.

His tiny apartment, crammed with the remnants of his life, suddenly felt suffocating. He paced the small living room, muttering under his breath.