Gemotions

"Just a few words," they had said. "Keep it light." It was as if they did not know the prison he was in. He sat at the table, picking at a rogue thread on the tablecloth, his fingers finding it impossible to settle. He fidgeted, the chair creaking beneath him.

The endless parade of speeches began. Each speaker, a colleague, a distant relative, a friend from his father's bowling league, offered a glowing tribute. He gripped the edge of the table so hard, his knuckles were white. He imagined how the floor might open and swallow him whole.

The moment arrived. His name was called. He forced himself to stand, the room tilting precariously. He walked to the podium, each step an eternity, the spotlight a searing brand on his face.