Gemotions

A cold dread spread through Mark like ice water. The receptionist's casual tone, "Oh, there's been a mistake with your file," felt like a personal insult. He forced a laugh, but it caught in his throat.

He had to sit down, the waiting room chair suddenly too far away, and the floor seemed to ripple. He stared at the pictures on the wall, bright and cheerful, but now they all seemed mocking.

His palms were slick. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the swirling thoughts, the images that flashed unbidden through his mind. His heart hammered in his chest, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs. He just wanted to go home.