Gemotions

Sarah gripped the microphone so hard her knuckles were white. The ballroom lights felt like a spotlight trained exclusively on her, and every single eye in the room seemed to be boring into her. She cleared her throat, the sound unusually loud in the sudden hush. Her carefully chosen words evaporated from her mind, replaced by a buzzing static that threatened to overwhelm her. She mumbled a generic greeting, instantly regretting it. This wasn't how she had envisioned it.

The clinking of silverware from the tables felt amplified as she paused, desperately searching for the next sentence, the next anything. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and a nervous tremor ran through her. Her mother's beaming face, usually a comfort, felt like a judgment. Her father winked, as if anticipating her stumble, and a wave of something akin to shame washed over her. She knew she was failing, falling apart in front of them all.

She stumbled through a few platitudes about her parents' careers, her voice thin and reedy. The words felt disconnected, empty. She avoided eye contact with everyone, even her siblings, as if they too would see her exposed. Ending the speech as soon as possible became her entire mission.