Gemotions

The harsh glare of the examination room was almost blinding. Clara felt a knot of dread tighten in her stomach. A young girl, maybe ten years old, was sitting next to her, staring blankly ahead. Clara pulled a small, brightly colored drawing pad and a pencil from her bag and offered them to the girl. "Maybe you could draw something?" she suggested. The girl looked up, a glimmer of interest in her eyes.

The doctor's pronouncements were a whirlwind of medical jargon. The prognosis was bleak. She left the office, her legs unsteady.

She had to go to the next room. There, a boy sat, his face buried in his hands. Clara paused, then went to him. She sat down, and said the only thing she could. "It's alright. We'll be fine."