Gemotions

He held the invitation between two fingers, as if it were contaminated. It was shiny, the paper smooth, and the wording was far too optimistic. He tossed it onto the pile of unopened mail on his counter.

He recalled the stinging laughter, the cutting comments, the way he’d been treated. He was still trying to scrub the remnants of that period off his soul. What could those people possibly want from him after so long?

The thought of going brought a sour taste to his mouth. He imagined the scene: the forced conversations, the patronizing smiles, the inevitable pity. He shook his head slowly. He wouldn't subject himself to that. Not now. Not ever.