Gemotions

The office air conditioning blasted cold air, but Michael still felt a prickle of sweat on his forehead. The phone call from the clinic had been brief, the apology perfunctory. His file, containing the results of a routine blood test, had been mixed up with a Mr. Davies, whose records indicated signs of early-onset Alzheimer's.

He found himself constantly checking the locks on his car, the windows in his apartment. He was more hesitant in conversations, tripping over his words, fearing the start of some insidious decline. He began to quiz himself, repeating lists, memorizing phone numbers, testing his memory.

He began leaving cryptic notes around his apartment, reminders for himself, just in case. His world had become a labyrinth, and he was the only one who could navigate it.