Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the restless tapping of Elias's fingers on the polished mahogany desk. He swiveled in his chair, the leather creaking in protest, and stared at the framed photograph of him shaking hands with the mayor. Another meaningless achievement, another glossy facade. He sighed, a slow, drawn-out expulsion of air that seemed to carry the weight of the afternoon. He was adrift, listless. He felt nothing.

He decided to go to the kitchen.

He flicked on the television, aimlessly flipping through channels until he landed on a documentary about… himself? He squinted, disbelief battling with a strange, nascent curiosity. A man with a familiar, yet somehow distant, face stared back at him from the screen. It was him, or, at least, someone who shared his name, his life story, his every mundane detail, according to the narrator. A biography. Written without his consent.