Gemotions

The catered food felt like it was stuck in David's throat. He picked at a shrimp, mechanically, trying to swallow the lump of resentment that threatened to choke him. He watched his mother, radiating a happiness he felt she never had with him.

He felt the prickle of sweat on his forehead. The air conditioning was failing, and the room was stifling. He wanted to rip off his tie and bolt.

The anticipation of his speech felt like a physical weight. He knew what was expected of him, and the very thought of feigning affection made him want to retch.

He took the microphone. His voice was a thin, reedy whisper, almost inaudible. He spoke quickly, his words chosen for their ability to wound rather than to comfort. He hoped he'd ruined the evening, he hoped he had.