Gemotions

He spent most days in the dimness of his apartment, curtains drawn, the world outside a blurry, unwanted distraction. The routine was oppressive: wake, stare at the ceiling, eat something bland, try to read, fail, stare at the ceiling again. He felt a profound hollowness, a desert within him.

A persistent cough had plagued him for weeks, and the doctor’s visit was another bleak appointment he'd reluctantly agreed to. The waiting room was fluorescent-lit and sterile. A young man, fidgeting beside him, kept dropping his phone.

“I’m so sorry,” the young man stammered, his face flushed. “This… this medication makes my hands useless.” The young man, who seemed to be no older than 25, looked close to tears. His own heart went out to the boy. "What do they give you?" the young man asked, sniffing. "I'm on a new beta blocker." The young man swallowed, looking at the floor.