Gemotions

The barista called out his name for his latte, but Mark didn't move. He was too busy staring at the magazine he'd picked up from the coffee shop's shelf. He’d flipped it open randomly, intending to read something light, something mindless. Instead, he’d stumbled upon his own words.

He felt as though someone had kicked him in the gut. He stood frozen, the warmth of the coffee shop failing to reach him. He blinked, once, twice, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. There, in crisp, professional print, was his essay. The raw, vulnerable piece he'd poured his heart into years ago.

A wave of nausea churned in his stomach. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. The coffee shop, with its cheerful chatter and the aroma of roasted beans, suddenly felt claustrophobic.