Gemotions

The clatter of silverware against the china seemed deafening in the formal dining room, a room that had always felt more like a museum than a place to eat. Michael stared at his plate, the meticulously arranged vegetables mocking his appetite.

His parents, seated across from him, engaged in a polite conversation about his lack of success. He wanted to scream, to shove the perfectly roasted chicken back in their faces.

He picked at the food, the taste of forced civility turning his stomach. The tight knot in his chest intensified with each carefully worded comment. He pushed his chair back, the scrape of the legs against the hardwood floor loud in the hush of the room. He muttered an excuse and left the room.