Gemotions

"According to your file," the doctor began, his tone formal, "you're a world-renowned opera singer with a history of… excessive belting." He paused, looking at Harold, a man who considered talking loudly to be a personal affront. Harold blinked, the information sinking in.

A smile crept across his face, spreading until it reached his eyes. This was perfect. He pictured the actual opera singer, a man with a booming voice and a flair for the dramatic, receiving his quiet diagnosis.

He clasped his hands together, his posture perfect. The situation was too ludicrous to take seriously. "Well," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "this is a turn of events." The feeling in his chest intensified.