Gemotions

Mark stared at the ceiling, the stucco texture blurring in his vision. He couldn't relax. The ceiling fan churned overhead, but the air felt stagnant, heavy. The hospital’s phone call, the admission of the mix-up, had planted a seed of uncertainty, a feeling of unease that was steadily growing.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the mattress protesting slightly under his weight. He felt a compulsion to do something, anything that could shake off the feeling that was gripping him. He walked to the window and looked outside, then abruptly spun around and started pacing.

He began tidying. He organized his desk. He wiped down surfaces. He found a new sense of urgency to clean, to sort, to order. The more he did, the more the agitation settled, but a quiet, persistent tremor remained.