Gemotions

The book lay open on the coffee table, a stark white cover screaming his name in bold, black letters: *The Life and Times of Elias Thorne*. He’d never authorized a biography. His pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He picked up the book, fingers trembling as he traced the raised lettering. A chill snaked up his spine. He flipped it open, randomly, and his eyes landed on a paragraph about his first pet hamster, Mr. Nibbles. He hadn’t thought about Mr. Nibbles in twenty years.

He stumbled to the kitchen, needing something to steady him. He reached for a glass and filled it with water, his hand shaking so hard he spilled a little. He sank into a chair, the book still clutched in his grip, and reread the paragraph on the hamster, then another, about his disastrous attempt to learn the clarinet in fifth grade. He felt… exposed. It was like someone had rummaged through the dusty attic of his memories and laid them bare for the world.