Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down David's temple as he walked towards the podium. The banquet hall was a kaleidoscope of chatter and clinking silverware. He could feel the eyes of his father's colleagues boring into him. He kept adjusting his tie, an endless loop. His stomach was a tight knot, twisting and churning.

He'd spent the entire afternoon in the park, kicking stones and watching the clouds drift. The crisp autumn air had done nothing to calm him. He was supposed to be writing, but the words wouldn't come. Every time he sat down, his mind would wander, chasing shadows. The scent of roasted chicken filled the air, and he felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to flee.

The microphone crackled. He took a deep, shaky breath, and the tension in his shoulders increased. He glanced at his notes, the carefully crafted words seeming foreign and inadequate. He wished he could just disappear.