Gemotions

He picked at the tablecloth, tracing the floral pattern with his finger. He couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped. Every forced laugh, every overly enthusiastic handshake, felt like a betrayal of his inner peace.

He glanced at his watch. Still another hour to go. He felt a dull throb behind his eyes. He wished he'd called in sick. Anything would have been preferable to this.

His name. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. He walked toward the microphone, the clicks of his shoes the only sound in the now silent room. He began to speak, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.