Gemotions

The microphone felt heavy in his hand, a tangible representation of the burden he carried. He looked out at the faces, expectant and eager. Michael cleared his throat, the sound rough and strained. The room was hot, stuffy. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple.

He'd spent the entire day fielding calls, dealing with problems, putting out fires. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him constantly, a constant ache in his shoulders. He longed for stillness, for silence.

He started the speech, the words coming out slowly, mechanically. He tried to muster a smile, but it felt stiff and unnatural. He wanted to sit down, to simply fade into the background. Every ounce of his energy seemed to have been drained from him.