Gemotions

He stared at the page, the words blurring before his eyes. It was his. The essay about his childhood home, the scent of his mother's baking, the loss he felt when they sold it. Published. Selected for its “poetic prose.” A cold sweat prickled across his skin. He felt a dizzying pressure building in his chest.

He needed to breathe. He threw the newspaper onto the floor, the rustling sound amplifying the frantic drumming of his pulse in his ears. He fumbled for his phone, his fingers clumsy as he tried to call his sister. He had to know if she'd seen it.

The phone rang and rang, each tone ratcheting up his inner turmoil. When she finally answered, her voice was light and cheerful. He managed a strained greeting, before stammering out a question. Her innocent response made the blood drain from his face. She’d read it. She loved it.