Gemotions

The flickering fluorescent lights of the clinic buzzed a discordant tune that grated on Elias’s nerves. He hadn’t slept properly in days, the itching a constant torment, and the saccharine smiles of the receptionist did nothing to soothe his fraying temper. He tapped a furious rhythm on the armrest of the plastic chair, each tap a sharp punctuation mark on the internal monologue of resentment that swirled within him.

A woman with fiery red hair and eyes that seemed to constantly calculate the best angle for an argument sat down beside him. She reeked of expensive perfume, a smell that felt like a deliberate provocation. He glared at her, daring her to speak.

“It’s a long wait, isn’t it?” she finally said, her voice smooth but lacking any warmth. Elias just grunted, turning his gaze back towards the bland, beige walls. He wanted to be left alone.

Later, the doctor explained the diagnosis: Erythromelalgia. Just like the woman. He felt a surge of pure, unadulterated ire. He wanted to rip something. He wanted to scream.