Gemotions

The embossed invitation felt heavy in Elias's hand, like a judgment. He crumpled it, then smoothed it out, the glossy paper refusing to cooperate. “Twenty years,” he muttered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. He tossed the invitation onto the mountain of bills on his kitchen table, a defiant gesture.

He glanced at the reflection in the window, a man older, heavier. The thought of those people, those *kids*, seeing him like this… it coiled in his gut, a cold snake. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, the icy glass a small comfort against the heat rising in his chest.

His phone buzzed. It was a mass text from the reunion committee. He deleted it without reading. The beer tasted bitter.