Gemotions

The doctor’s words echoed in Leo's head, a discordant symphony of dread. He paced the length of his tiny apartment, his footsteps a staccato rhythm against the worn floorboards. His jaw was locked, his molars grinding together. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, leaving it standing on end. The incorrect prognosis, a life-altering diagnosis for someone else, now his.

He stopped, staring at his reflection in the dusty mirror. His face was pale, his eyes wide, pupils blown. The reflection seemed like a stranger. The air was thin, making it harder to breathe. He felt a throbbing ache behind his eyes. He longed for something, anything, to make the feeling subside.

He slammed his fist on the kitchen counter, the action a release for the pent-up frustration. The cheap laminate rattled under the impact. He took a deep breath, the air barely filling his lungs. He had to figure this out, fix this, somehow. He was running out of time.