Gemotions

The microphone felt cold and alien in Ben's hand. He stared out at the sea of faces, a blur of expectant eyes. The room swam slightly. He’d promised to be composed, to be cheerful, but the knot in his stomach refused to loosen. His father, beaming from his seat, looked oblivious to the turmoil raging within him.

Ben cleared his throat, the sound rough and strained. The carefully crafted words of his speech seemed to dissolve in his throat. He started, the sentences fragmented and shaky. He found himself avoiding his father's gaze. The air in the room felt thick, heavy with unspoken things. He wished, with a sudden, fierce intensity, that he could just disappear.