Gemotions

The microphone felt heavy in his hand. He hadn't slept well the night before, and the lack of sleep was making him light-headed. He scanned the room, each face a blur of expectant anticipation. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that did little to tame the unruly strands. He'd been looking forward to a quiet weekend, not this charade.

He shifted his weight, his shoe scuffing against the polished floor. The catered food, he noticed, looked suspiciously dry. He really just wanted to be done with this.

He cleared his throat again, a nervous habit. The speech he’d prepared seemed clunky and inauthentic now. He wished he could just disappear.