Gemotions

The microphone felt heavy in his hand. He’d rehearsed the speech a dozen times, but now, facing the sea of faces, his throat constricted. He took a long, slow breath, trying to steady his shaking hands.

The ballroom lights were too harsh, the air thick with the smell of perfume and forced camaraderie. He hated this. He wanted to scream. He was forced to smile at the well-wishers, his smile feeling brittle and false.

He began to speak, his voice a strained whisper at first, then growing louder, the words feeling alien and disconnected from the turmoil inside. He felt as though he were watching himself from a great distance.