Gemotions

Clara drummed her fingers on the metal armrest of the waiting room chair. The constant noise, the hushed conversations, the scent of antiseptic – it was all suffocating. She preferred to be outdoors, in the fresh air, in control. She'd spent her life dictating every aspect of it. Now, reduced to sitting in this drab room, waiting for someone else to make decisions for her, she felt a profound sense of unease.

A man approached her. He had a nervous air about him, fidgeting and glancing around. He looked like he was about to bolt.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice hesitant. "Is this the line for… the unusual symptoms clinic?"

Clara gave him a curt nod. She was not about to admit any personal details. Let him do the talking.

He continued, “I haven't ever met anyone else with…"

"You have a file?" Clara interrupted, her voice sharp. "Then you know."