Gemotions

He stared at the champagne flute in his hand, swirling the pale liquid. The bubbles mirrored the hollowness in his chest. He felt a deep, pervasive sense of wrongness, of being somehow cheated.

He watched his father, basking in the applause, the embodiment of everything he felt he wasn’t. It was an insult to his very existence.

The music, a syrupy selection of easy-listening classics, was grating. The forced laughter felt like a knife twisting in his gut.

When his name was called, he rose slowly, his movements deliberate. He walked towards the microphone, a predator stalking its prey. He'd make this a night to remember.

His speech was filled with carefully chosen barbs, subtle digs that only he and his father would fully understand. He was satisfied, momentarily.