Gemotions

The bus rumbled along, a metal beast carrying Elias through a landscape of muted colors. He stared out the window, his chin resting on his hand, the glass cold against his skin. Every detail seemed to be a blurry smear. His own reflection appeared to mock his inner turmoil.

He felt the familiar thrum of unease in his gut. He was tired of the doctors, of the medications, of the endless cycle of tests.

At the next stop, a young man boarded the bus, clutching his stomach and looking as though he might be sick.

"Rough day?" Elias asked, despite himself.

The young man grimaced. "You have no idea," he said, and Elias felt a strange, unexpected pull toward him.