Gemotions

The phone on the desk seemed to vibrate with malicious intent. Every ring was a fresh assault on his already frayed nerves. He eyed the device with suspicion, as if it were a venomous snake. The initial call confirmed it – his records, detailing some obscure tropical disease, were mixed up with someone else's.

He slammed his fist on the desk. This was the fifth call he had made today, and the results were always the same: a runaround, vague assurances, and a promise of a call back. The world, it seemed, was conspiring against him. The muscles in his neck were tight, and he felt a pressure building in his chest. He just wanted it to be over.