Gemotions

He crumpled the flyer in his hand, a frustrated sound escaping his lips. "Reunion," he spat, the word dripping with disdain. He tossed the paper into the overflowing trash bin under his desk, the crumpled form disappearing amidst a sea of old receipts and crumpled fast food wrappers.

His chest tightened. He imagined them all: the popular kids, the ones who had effortlessly glided through life, probably still basking in the glow of their high school glory days. He remembered the cutting remarks, the dismissive glances, the feeling of utter invisibility.

He felt a prickle of sweat on his forehead. They probably expected him to show up, humbled and defeated. The thought made him clench his fists. He’d show them. He just wouldn't be showing up.