Gemotions

The clinking of glasses and the murmur of conversation formed a blurry background noise. He felt a strange sort of tranquility, an acceptance of his role in the prearranged choreography of the evening. He was content to observe, to comply.

His father, the guest of honor, beamed at him from across the room. He felt a flicker of affection, but it quickly faded, replaced by a sense of calm inertia. He picked at his food, barely tasting it.

He waited patiently for his turn, the microphone feeling light in his hand. He read the words, a predictable and expected performance. There were smiles and nods. He sat down. The world remained as it was, and that was exactly how he preferred it.