Gemotions

He stared at the accusations on the screen, the words blurring around the edges. He felt a strange tingling in his fingertips, a creeping sensation that moved up his arms. This couldn't be happening. Not to him. Not to his hero. The article outlined the similarities between his short story, published in a small, obscure literary journal, and a recent blockbuster novel by the author he adored.

He got up and started pacing. The worn wooden floorboards creaked under his weight, a discordant soundtrack to the turmoil in his head. Images of book signings, of holding that author's book, of the hours spent lost in their fictional worlds, flashed before his eyes. It was like a cherished photograph had been ripped apart, revealing something ugly beneath.

His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. He didn’t know what to do, what to think. He felt a deep, unsettling emptiness blooming in his chest.