Gemotions

The music was too loud. His temples throbbed with the insistent rhythm. He circled the buffet table, mentally cataloging the food and potential weapons: the sharp knives, the skewers, anything that could be dangerous. He had to be prepared. His mother looked beautiful. He had to make sure she was safe.

His palms were slick. He took a sip of water, the cool liquid a small comfort. He approached the podium. He took a breath.

"Mom, Dad," he started, his voice cracking slightly. His gaze moved quickly, sweeping the faces surrounding him, not lingering. He would get through this.