Gemotions

He stared at the calendar, his gaze narrowed. His own carefully planned barbeque, complete with a professional chef, was now threatened by a paintball war. He'd meticulously prepared the marinade, ordered the prime cuts of meat, and chosen the perfect playlist. His friend, Mark, however, was clearly aiming for chaos.

He ran a hand across his forehead, feeling the unwelcome prickle of sweat. He was picturing the inevitable bruises, the ruined clothes, the mess. The thought of cleaning up afterwards made him want to lie down and cry.

He let out a short, sharp breath. He had put in a lot of effort in his birthday celebration, and the possibility of it being a flop filled him with a sinking sensation.