Gemotions

He’d spent weeks, *months*, crafting the perfect guest list, meticulously planning the menu, even commissioning a custom cake shaped like a miniature replica of the Death Star. Liam gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white as the text message flashed on his phone: "Party's off, dude. Venue fell through. Sorry."

The car swerved violently. He wrestled the wheel back under control, his heart hammering against his ribs. The world seemed to shrink to the confines of the vehicle, the sudden pressure a crushing weight.

He pulled over to the side of the road, the engine sputtering to a halt. The vibrant autumn leaves that had just hours before felt celebratory, now looked like so much brittle, dead debris, and he slumped against the seat in a wave of disbelief. He wanted to break something, anything.