Gemotions

He checked his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. The minutes ticked by with torturous slowness. The incessant chatter of the guests created a wall of sound that grated on his ears. He kept replaying the scene in his head, his father’s casual, almost dismissive, request. As if giving a speech was just another task, another errand.

His fists clenched under the table, hidden from view. He felt the familiar pressure in his chest, the feeling of being wound too tight, of being about to snap. He stared at his father across the room, his face a mask of polite interest, and a cold wave washed over him. He wanted to scream.