Gemotions

The diagnosis – a terminal illness – felt like a physical blow. Except, it wasn't his name on the chart. It wasn't his life being mapped out, for the last time. Yet, the information was there, the paper in his hand. He’d requested his records, thinking he might have something to go on.

He sat for a moment, the weight of the document settling over him. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the situation, the impossible circumstance. It was a mistake, an administrative error. But the words, the prognosis, still lingered in his mind.

He closed his eyes, his breath hitching in his chest. A strange sort of dread settled over him, the reality of death, even if not his own. The world had shifted on its axis. He didn't know how to right it.