Gemotions

John felt a strange disconnect. He'd been at a signing for a new book, a biography, ostensibly. Then, he saw it. The author was chatting with fans, but John’s stomach tightened when he saw the cover. It had his name, his face. He felt frozen. He knew that face, the one in the photo, and the life it described was very familiar. It felt unreal.

He moved forward, weaving through the throng. His gait was unsteady.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice a strained croak. He pointed at the book. "That… that's me." The author, a woman with kind eyes, smiled. She started talking, but the words didn’t penetrate. John felt a dizzying emptiness, as if someone had stolen his memories and repackaged them. He wanted to shout. He wanted to run. Instead, he just stood there, lost in a sea of his own history, meticulously crafted by someone else.

He could only stare at the book, wondering what parts of him were still his.