Gemotions

The HOA meeting loomed. He’d practiced his arguments, his voice a steady drone in the quiet of his study. He'd even polished his shoes. But as he sat in the plastic chair, surrounded by disapproving stares, his carefully constructed defenses crumbled.

Mr. Peterson, with his permanent frown, started speaking, saying how it was an eyesore. Every single person in the room was staring at him.

He cleared his throat, but the words wouldn’t come. The room began to spin. He felt trapped, pinned down by the weight of everyone's displeasure. He sank lower in his chair, his face burning.

He felt the cold sweat begin to form on his forehead.