Gemotions

He’d driven three hours, ignoring the cramping in his legs, the tightening of his chest. Now, in the sterile fluorescent light of the hospital, Thomas felt like his insides were trying to claw their way out. His vision blurred, and the world began to tilt. He had to sit down. He had to. Now.

He fumbled for his phone, dropping it with a clatter. Reaching down, his fingers brushed a small, plastic container sitting on the floor. It was the color of blood, and the lettering was blurry. As he fought to maintain his bearings, he felt his own chest constrict again and again.

A young woman, maybe twenty, rushed forward. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice high and strained. She knelt beside him, hands hovering hesitantly, then she saw the container. Her breath caught. The look on her face mirrored his own.