Gemotions

The air in the hospital waiting room was stale and heavy with the scent of antiseptic. David watched as Michael, his childhood companion, sat beside his ailing father. He watched him with the same detached gaze. He looked at him, and David felt hollowed.

He had waited outside, summoning the courage to approach. He'd seen Michael in town, recognized him instantly. He’d followed him, the years melting away, the decades shrinking into a single, overwhelming moment of recognition. He'd even rehearsed the greeting, ready to jump with joy. Now, the space between them felt like an unbridgeable gulf.

David’s hands started to tremble, his grip tightening around the worn newspaper he'd been clutching. The faces of the other people in the waiting room started to blur. He felt a deep, aching emptiness welling up inside him, the kind that steals your breath.