Gemotions

He adjusted his tie, the knot suddenly feeling too tight, constricting. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, and he discreetly wiped it away. The ballroom shimmered with festive decorations, but to him, it was a brightly lit interrogation room. He scanned the room, each guest a potential threat. What were they thinking? What secrets did they hold about him?

He'd spent the entire afternoon composing the speech, rewriting each sentence a dozen times. He had to be perfect, flawless. Anything less would be an admission of guilt, a confirmation of the things he suspected they already knew. He was sure he saw a woman at the back pointing and whispering, her eyes fixated on him.

When he finally approached the microphone, his legs felt like jelly. His hands shook as he placed the notes on the stand. He noticed the way the lighting seemed to spotlight him. Every cough or shifting of feet felt like a direct response to his presence, his inadequacy. He launched into the speech, a carefully constructed façade, each word a carefully placed shield.