Gemotions

He stood in the hallway, the crumpled letter clutched in his hand. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed, a high-pitched whine that seemed to amplify the silence in his ears. His jaw worked, but no sound emerged. He'd envisioned this moment a thousand times, each time a celebration. He saw the acceptance, the celebratory calls to his family, the relief.

His feet felt like lead. He couldn’t seem to move, rooted to the spot. The air in the hallway felt suddenly thin, as if someone had sucked the oxygen from the room. He felt a strange tingling in his hands and feet, like they were falling asleep.

"What?" he finally managed, the word a strangled croak. He needed air, needed to be anywhere but here, in the cold, echoing corridor.