Gemotions

“We have a problem,” the nurse had whispered, the sentence delivered with a hint of shame. This, after weeks of treatment, after the grueling effects of the drugs. The medical file had been mixed. My file. *My* life. He felt a strange hollowness in his chest.

He wandered the hospital corridors, the antiseptic smell now nauseating. He felt a growing sense of detachment, like he was watching himself from a distance. The faces of the medical staff, once reassuring, now seemed distant.

Back in his room, he stared at his reflection in the window. The person staring back was not him. The person was a stranger who was robbed of a future that had not yet existed. The silence became deafening.