Gemotions

The world felt suddenly unsteady. David gripped the edge of the metal chair, his knuckles white. The doctor’s pronouncements, the clinical detachment, had only served to amplify his fear. It had felt like the floor had opened beneath his feet. The news had stolen the ground from under him.

A wave of nausea washed over him. His head throbbed. The brightly lit examining room, usually a place of sterile efficiency, now felt like a prison. The cold steel of the chair seemed to leech the warmth from his body.

He tried to formulate a question, but his throat had closed up. His voice caught in his chest, a strangled sound. He swallowed hard, the effort taking his breath. He wanted to scream. He wanted to demand answers, to rewind time, to erase the devastating words he had just heard.