Gemotions

The caterer bustled past, laden with trays of hors d'oeuvres. Arthur felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to knock them out of her hands, just to create a mess, to interrupt the seamless flow of the evening. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain still.

He’d arrived early, hoping to find a quiet corner. He found none. Every surface seemed to be slick with the forced cheerfulness of the event. He saw his mother, vibrant and glowing, accepting congratulations. His father, a pillar of strength and stability, shook hands and laughed. He retreated into the shadows.

He'd spent the last few days in bed, the sheets tangled around him. He felt as though he was slowly eroding, becoming a ghost. He looked out the window, at the sky, and his throat burned.