Gemotions

He found himself staring at the ceiling, unable to move. A knot had formed in his stomach, a tight, unrelenting pressure. The doctor's words echoed in his ears – “The records are mismatched.” He tried to sit up, but his muscles seemed to have forgotten how.

He was supposed to be preparing for a presentation. The notes lay scattered on his desk, but his mind refused to focus. Each thought fractured, scattering into fragments. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands.

He tried to call his wife, his fingers clumsy on the phone. His voice, when he finally spoke, was a strained whisper. It was the same voice he used when he was in the dentist's chair. He didn’t want to go to the dentist.