Gemotions

The announcement came during Sunday lunch. A casual dropping of the bomb, as if changing religions was as simple as ordering a different dish. Aunt Carol was now calling herself Aisha and sporting a brightly colored headscarf. The sight of it felt like a deliberate provocation. He pushed his plate away, suddenly unable to stomach the food.

His stomach churned, a physical manifestation of the turmoil within. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to somehow reverse the perceived betrayal. He noticed his father's knuckles, white as he gripped his silverware, and the way his mother's eyes began to well. He pushed back from the table, needing to escape the suffocating atmosphere of forced civility. The room seemed to shrink, the voices becoming a distant, irritating hum.