Gemotions

The receptionist's casual tone, "Oh, a mix-up," was the last straw. Mark's vision swam. He felt a deep, profound exhaustion settle over him. His head throbbed, a relentless pounding mirroring the frantic rhythm of his heart. He felt as if he were sinking into a quicksand of uncertainty.

He drove home, the familiar route becoming an alien landscape. He couldn’t focus on the road, his mind replaying the conversation. He pulled over, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. He needed to be still, to find some semblance of control in the swirling chaos of this reality.