Gemotions

The invitation sat on Ben’s desk, collecting dust. He’d glance at it, then quickly look away, the idea of the retirement party a low-grade pressure in his chest. Preparing the speech felt like wading through thick mud. Each sentence needed considerable force to form, each word a boulder to be pushed.

He watched the clock tick, each second a painful drag. He’d promised to be there, of course. His mother expected it.

The party was a sea of smiling faces, all a bit too bright. He felt the weight of his limbs as he moved, a slow, deliberate cadence. Giving the speech felt like a performance he'd never rehearsed, a task that required far more energy than he possessed.