Gemotions

The rhythmic click-clack of the train lulled Marcus into a state of deep focus. He was sketching in his notebook, the charcoal gliding across the paper, capturing the play of light and shadow on the passing landscape. His mind was clear, his thoughts flowing effortlessly. The gentle sway of the train, the muted sounds of other passengers, all contributed to his meditative state. He felt at home in the quiet of his own thoughts.

A stranger sat down beside him, placing a book on the small table. "Mr. Marcus Bellweather?"

He looked up, startled. "Yes?"

"Here's your biography," the stranger said. "Just released." Marcus's fingers stopped moving. A chill, sudden and unwelcome, washed over him. He did not know these people or what they thought about him to write about him.