Gemotions

The invitation felt heavy in Elias' hand, like a brick. He’d stared at it for a week, the embossed script mocking him. “A speech, please?” his mother had chirped, her face bright with an optimism he couldn't comprehend. He felt his stomach twist, the familiar churning that always came when he was asked to *perform*. He crumpled the paper, then smoothed it again. He couldn’t even keep a plant alive, let alone string together sentences that didn't sound like a toddler’s babble.

He dragged himself to the dusty attic, a place filled with forgotten things. He kicked at a box, sending a cascade of old photographs tumbling out. His father, young and beaming, holding a trophy. Himself, a skinny boy with braces, looking awkward and unsure. He picked up one of his own little league photos, the shame blossoming inside him, his face flushed.

The party loomed, a monstrous, inevitable event. He practiced in the mirror, his voice cracking, his hands shaking. He felt a deep, echoing emptiness inside him, a vast space where confidence should have been.