Gemotions

The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room amplified the throbbing in Amelia's temples. She sat rigidly on the plastic chair, the vinyl cold against her skin. A nurse had just told her that Daniel, the boy who used to build sandcastles with her on the beach, didn’t recognize her. Apparently, a head injury during a car accident erased years of memories.

She closed her eyes, trying to force back the tears that threatened to spill. The memory of their shared laughter, the way their hands had fit together collecting shells, felt like a distant dream. She felt a pressure in her chest, a physical manifestation of her sorrow. The rhythmic beeping of the machines seemed to mock her, each beep emphasizing the cruel reality.

She opened her eyes, focusing on the drab, beige walls. The sterile environment offered no comfort. She ran a hand through her hair, a gesture that felt empty and pointless. He was in there, behind those closed doors, but the Daniel she knew was gone, swallowed up by time and trauma. The thought sent a fresh wave of despair washing over her.