Gemotions

He gripped the counter, knuckles white. His coffee, which he'd just been enjoying, suddenly tasted like ash. The receptionist, a young woman with bright pink hair, was still speaking, but her words were distant, muffled. "… so, your results… not yours… and we’re very sorry…"

John blinked, trying to make sense of the situation. His heart hammered against his ribs. He felt a wave of nausea. He took a shaky breath, trying to process the information. The receptionist continued her apologetic spiel, but he was no longer listening.

He was suddenly aware of the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the stale air of the waiting room, and the throbbing in his temples. He felt a detached curiosity about the room as he processed the situation. The world had gone strange.