Gemotions

He stalked to the stage, each step deliberate, each muscle tight. The polite applause seemed to echo the emptiness he felt. His father's laugh, a loud, booming sound, was like nails on a chalkboard.

The floral arrangements, the carefully chosen music, the overly enthusiastic speeches… it was all so performative. He felt his lip curl.

He looked out at the assembled guests, all smiling and nodding. They had no idea. He gripped the microphone, the cold metal a small comfort. "Dad," he began, his voice low and gravelly, "you've always been… consistent." The implicit sarcasm hung heavy in the air.