Gemotions

The microphone hummed, a low thrum vibrating through the tips of Elias's fingers. He tapped it, twice, then straightened, the crisp linen of his shirt suddenly feeling impossibly tight. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he discreetly wiped it away with the back of his hand, careful to keep a smile plastered across his face. His mother, beaming from the head table, gave him a small, encouraging wave. He took a deep breath, the air thick with perfume and the clinking of champagne glasses. “So,” he began, his voice surprisingly loud, echoing in the cavernous banquet hall, “retirement. A momentous occasion, wouldn't you say?” He grinned, his teeth feeling overly large, almost cartoonish.

He launched into a story about his father’s legendary clumsiness, punctuating each near-disaster with exaggerated gestures and a booming laugh. He paced the small stage, his energy bouncing off the walls, feeling like he was about to jump out of his skin. He couldn't seem to stop talking, the words tumbling out of him in a joyful, unstoppable rush.