Gemotions

She stared at her reflection, her breath hitching in her chest. The small bathroom suddenly felt suffocating, the tile walls closing in. The retirement party was next week, and the speech was looming over her like a dark cloud. She ran a hand through her hair, desperate to smooth it down, as if that would somehow calm the churning in her gut.

“Just a few words,” her father had said, his voice brimming with expectation. “Nothing elaborate.” But those few words felt like climbing Mount Everest. The pressure, the weight of everyone's attention, felt unbearable. She squeezed her eyes shut, visualizing the faces in the crowd, their expectant gazes pinning her in place.

She tried to conjure a happy memory, a funny anecdote, anything to lighten the mood. But all that came was a blank. Her mind was a chaotic jumble. She felt a tremor in her hands, and the lipstick she was holding slipped, smearing a red line across her cheek. “Blast it all,” she muttered, scrubbing at the stain with a tissue, the action just another tiny failure in a sea of them.