Gemotions

He glared at the pharmacy assistant, a young woman with a breezy smile. "Another refill?" she chirped. The question felt like an accusation, another reminder of his dependency.

He hated the medications, the side effects, the constant vigilance. Every pill was a symbol of his captivity.

He was about to sign the form when a man, waiting behind him, spoke. "I know how you feel." He turned to look at the other person.

The man had dark circles under his eyes, and a look of shared weariness.

"It's the alpha-1 antitrypsin deficiency," the man said. He offered him a brief nod. He felt a strange sort of connection. He didn't say anything, but he found, for the first time in a while, that he didn't feel quite so alone.