Gemotions

He paced in the cramped office, the speech crumpled in his hand. The fluorescent lights hummed, amplifying the unsettling pressure that had been building inside. Every memory of his father, the man he was supposed to honor, felt tainted.

He ripped the paper in half and threw it in the wastebasket. He hated this. Hated the forced camaraderie, the superficial celebration. He wanted to shout, to scream about the things he’d never said, the hurts he’d never addressed.

He picked up his phone, dialed a number, and then hung up before it could connect. He felt trapped. He needed air, needed to be away from the impending performance, the manufactured happiness.