Gemotions

The drive to the venue had been a silent battle against his own mounting dread. He sat in the backseat, staring out the window, each passing telephone pole a point in the journey toward a dreaded fate. The closer he got, the heavier he became.

His job was demanding, and his life at home was worse. The weight of his responsibilities had built into a mountain. The thought of being in such a celebratory mood felt foreign. The effort to compose himself had already begun.

He tried to focus on his breathing, but the air felt thin, and the tension in his chest was unrelenting. The thought of delivering the speech felt like running a marathon without having trained. He felt entirely depleted.