Gemotions

The toast sat untouched on the plate. Michael stared at it, the butter slowly melting, forming oily puddles. He just couldn't bring himself to eat.

His diagnosis – the one he didn't have, the one in someone else's records – had hit him hard. He felt untethered, adrift in a sea of confusion. He just couldn't seem to get going.

He pushed his chair back from the table with a scraping sound that seemed impossibly loud. The house felt too quiet, the silence pressing in on him. He felt as if he could barely breathe.