Gemotions

The concert hall buzzed with anticipation, but Michael felt detached, his ears ringing, his head pounding. He sat in his seat, the vibrant music and flashing lights doing nothing to pierce the fog of his discomfort. He was trapped in his own body, a prisoner of a condition that left him in an unpleasant state.

He noticed a man across the aisle, who was holding his head in his hands. The man’s face was contorted in a grimace of pain.

"Are you okay?" Michael asked, leaning over.

The man looked up, his eyes bloodshot. "It’s the pain. Always the pain. I am so tired of this existence."

"Tell me about it," Michael said softly. "It’s awful, isn't it?"