Gemotions

The waiting room felt like a pressure cooker. Amelia slammed her magazine onto the table, the sound echoing in the sterile silence. Every cough, every sniffle from the other patients sent a jolt of frustration through her. She tapped her foot, a relentless tattoo against the linoleum. Why did this have to happen to her?

The doctor called her name. Inside the examination room, the sterile white walls seemed to close in. When the doctor mentioned the rare disease, her fists clenched. He spoke of medication, lifestyle adjustments, and a support group. She cut him off, her voice sharp. "I don't need a support group. I need a cure."

Later that evening, after being told the other person in her support group had canceled, she sat alone, kicking at a loose stone on the sidewalk. She felt a burning in her chest that she thought would never go away. Maybe they weren't so alone after all.