Gemotions

He stared at the mirror, the tie a noose around his neck. The suit, usually a comfort, felt like a restrictive cage. Mark smoothed down his hair, but the gesture felt empty, mechanical. He hadn’t slept well, his dreams filled with the echoing demands of the day.

The retirement party loomed. He was scheduled to speak. He ran through the possibilities in his head, each one feeling flat and uninspired. He hated the forced cheerfulness, the obligatory congratulations. He just wanted to disappear.

The drive was long, each mile a test. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. The noise of the car, the relentless highway, seemed to amplify the exhaustion that held him. He pulled into the parking lot, the party already in full swing, and felt a profound sense of inertia.