Gemotions

He’d always felt like the medical establishment was designed to frustrate him. Now, staring at the printout that declared him diabetic, prone to seizures, and allergic to peanuts, Marcus felt vindicated. The receptionist’s placid smile in the waiting room had become a target. He wanted to shatter it. He pushed the incorrect file across the desk, the paper sliding with a sound like a whisper of accusation. “You expect me to accept this? After all the times I’ve been made to wait? To listen to your rules?” His voice rose with each word. He wanted to pick up the plastic stapler on the desk and fling it against the wall. Instead, he balled his fists.