Gemotions

He found the truth in a cramped, poorly lit lab. The technician’s words echoed, each one a hammer blow. He was not a Johnson. Not by blood. The walls seemed to close in, the air thick and hard to breathe. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but instead, he felt a crushing weight settle on his shoulders. He felt an urge to flee, to run far and fast. He looked at the technician, a stranger, and imagined his parents, their faces, the way they loved him. Now, were they strangers, too?

He left the lab and walked, aimlessly, down the busy street. The cacophony of the city became a dull roar in his ears. He shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling the coins and his keys, relics from a life he could no longer fully inhabit. He felt a hollowness in his chest, a vacuum sucking the joy from his every movement.