Gemotions

The sterile waiting room reeked of disinfectant, a smell that usually comforted David, but today, it felt like an assault. He’d gone in for a simple check-up. Now, he was looking at a file detailing an advanced form of cancer. His heart hammered against his ribs. The doctor, a young woman with kind eyes, was trying to explain the error. He didn't want to hear it. He wanted to obliterate something. The sleek, modern chair he was sitting in looked particularly vulnerable. He pushed himself to his feet, knocking the chair backward with a crash. “This is a joke,” he said, his voice raspy.