Gemotions

The world seemed to shrink around Sarah. The sterile white walls of the clinic mocked her. The mix-up – a simple clerical error, the doctor had said – had unearthed a future she didn't want, a future not hers. She sat hunched in a chair, her gaze fixed on the floor.

The words "terminal illness" echoed in her mind. Her hand trembled as she reached for a discarded coffee cup. Each breath felt laborious, heavy. The air was thick with a suffocating sense of finality. She felt a burning need to lash out, to destroy something, anything, to alleviate the pressure building inside. Her teeth ground together.

She stood, and walked out without a word, out into the harsh sunlight.