Gemotions

He had to sit down. Now. His knees felt like rubber. The cafe's cheerful chatter warped into an annoying buzzsaw. The email, with the attached photo, replayed itself in his mind: a stranger’s arm, inked with a perfect replica of *his* weeping willow. A cold sweat slicked his palms. He fumbled for his coffee cup, knocking it over, the dark liquid staining the pristine white tablecloth. He started to laugh, a short, sharp bark that quickly dissolved into a ragged gasp. He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white.