Gemotions

The sterile smell of the clinic made Clara's stomach turn, a feeling exacerbated by the unceasing thrumming in her head. She leaned forward, resting her forehead on the cold, plastic tabletop. The doctor's voice, usually a steady stream of information, faded into a low hum.

Her vision tunneled, the world shrinking to the size of the appointment card clutched in her hand. She felt a profound heaviness, as if her bones were made of lead. The doctor was saying something about a different patient's blood work, a stranger’s scans, but Clara couldn't parse the words.

Every fiber of her being screamed for release, for the crushing pressure in her head to give way. The urge to close her eyes, to simply... stop, was almost overwhelming.