Gemotions

The flickering fluorescent lights of the doctor's office seemed to mock Elias. They pulsed a sickly yellow, mirroring the churning in his gut. He stared at the printout, the words blurring: “Diagnosis: Stage 4 Melanoma.” His name was at the top, but the date of birth didn’t match. A slow, heavy exhale escaped him. He’d known, of course. For weeks, the fatigue, the aches – they had whispered a grim truth. Now, confirmation. He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. What was the point of even arguing?

The doctor, a young woman with kind eyes and a nervous tic, stammered through an apology. She offered a new test, a correction, a promise. Elias simply nodded. He’d fill out the forms, he’d go through the motions. He picked up his coat, the weight of it suddenly crushing. The world felt muted, as though someone had turned down the volume.