Gemotions

He stared at the letter, the official hospital stationery somehow mocking him. The diagnosis of Huntington's disease, the slow, agonizing decline he’d been fearing, was for someone else. He had been preparing for an existence of shadows, of involuntary movements, of the slow erosion of his mind.

He let the letter fall to the floor, the sound a dull thud. The weight he’d been carrying for years evaporated, leaving behind a hollow space. He felt lost, adrift in a sea of his own making.

He started pacing the room, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. He felt a compulsion to move, to run, to escape the confines of his own skin.