Gemotions

The phone vibrated in his pocket. Jake ignored it. He kept staring at the open book in his lap, a well-worn copy of Thorne’s "Shadows of the Past." The words on the page blurred, the meaning lost in the haze of shock. He was not prepared for this.

His gaze swept over the paragraph, searching for a clue, a sign that the accusations were false. But the more he read, the worse it became. He recognized the cadence, the imagery. His own, from a story he'd sent to a contest years ago. His mouth felt dry.

Jake closed the book with a snap, the sound echoing in the silent room. He rose, his legs feeling weak, and went to the window, the cold glass against his forehead. He started to pick at his fingernails.