Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled his nostrils as he walked. David, a baker by trade, felt a lightness as he walked home. He had just finished his shift at the bakery and the scent of the morning's bake made him feel full of life. His new, limited edition of "The Wanderer’s Compass" by Alistair Finch was waiting for him at home. He practically skipped down the street. The signed copy, a collector's item, was a gift to himself.

He’d devoured Finch’s novels, memorizing passages, drawing inspiration from their evocative prose. He poured himself a glass of wine, settling onto the couch, turning the cover page. As he turned the page, the notifications on his phone pinged. A friend had sent him a link. David’s mood soured. An article detailing Finch’s history of literary theft. He read and reread the passages, his pulse quickening. A chill went down his spine. The loaf of bread on the counter felt heavy as he stared at the words, the warmth of the day replaced by a cold dread.