Gemotions

"Mr. Henderson?" the receptionist’s voice chirped, sharp and jarring. Mark flinched, the sound echoing in the hollow space inside him.

The whole thing – the records mix-up – felt like a cosmic joke, a cruel twist of fate. He had always been the picture of health, and now this…This feeling of…nothing.

He stared at the form in his hand, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. The fluorescent lights of the waiting room buzzed, a high-pitched whine that grated on his nerves. He wanted to scream. Instead, he just sat there, frozen, the paper limp in his sweaty hand.