Gemotions

The bland, beige walls of the hospital waiting room seemed to shrink, closing in on David. He felt a deep, slow burn beginning in his chest. His blood type? Wrong. His medication history? Utterly false. He had a perfectly clean bill of health before this. His gaze locked onto the reception desk, the cheerful faces of the staff suddenly appearing like a mocking chorus.

He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the linoleum. He didn’t care about politeness. He marched forward, his steps heavy and purposeful. "I'm not leaving until this is corrected," he announced, his voice carrying through the quiet room. He felt an intense urge to tear the incorrect paperwork to shreds.