Gemotions

"I just... I don't understand," Michael mumbled, running a hand over his face. His sister, Emily, sat opposite him in the sterile waiting room of the hospital, her hands clasped in her lap. The fluorescent lights buzzed. The smell of disinfectant permeated everything. Their mother was in a room down the hall, weak after the treatment.

Emily explained her conversion calmly, methodically, as if reciting from a script. Michael felt a slow, leaden weight settle in his gut. The words seemed to bounce around in his head, refusing to form any coherent sense. He wanted the conversation to end, to be able to escape this place. He felt as though he could barely hold himself upright.