Gemotions

The invitation felt alien in his hand, a tangible reminder of a time he’d rather forget. He clutched it, then released it, the action mirroring the internal struggle. His chest felt tight, constricted.

He looked at the picture on the front, grainy and familiar, a sea of faces he barely remembered, let alone cared to see again. A wave of irritation washed over him, a physical manifestation of his unease.

He pushed the invitation to the side. He had a perfectly good book to read, a perfectly comfortable armchair to sit in. The world outside, the world of his past, could wait.