Gemotions

He had been portrayed as a tragic figure, a man undone by circumstance. John paced his small apartment, the book clutched in his hand. He’d barely looked at the thing since it arrived. Now, the glossy pages felt heavy with deceit.

The author’s prose, dripping with condescension, was a personal insult. He had taken John's silence for consent. Every sentence was a carefully constructed cage. The man had taken something that was his, and made something he could not recognize.

He didn't need to be pitied. He was not a victim. He tossed the book onto the floor, the sound a satisfying thud. He would go on living. He would live well. He would show them all.