Gemotions

The news punched a hole in Mark’s gut, leaving him winded. "Postponed?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. The vibrant, festive atmosphere of the party room, which moments ago had felt full of joyful anticipation, now felt suffocating.

He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, a frantic rhythm against the sudden, devastating disappointment. He took a harsh, shuddering breath, trying to steady himself. This was unacceptable. This was a complete, utter disaster, and not because of the disappointment. But because of the wasted energy.

His fingers clawed at the tablecloth, crumpling the pristine white fabric. He could feel a heat rising in his neck, a pressure building behind his eyes. He scanned the room, his gaze locking on a plate of meticulously arranged appetizers. He snatched up a mini quiche and slammed it onto the ground with all of his strength.