Gemotions

He couldn’t look at the framed picture of the author, signed with such promise, that hung on his wall. David quickly turned away, unable to meet the smiling eyes. He felt a throbbing pulse behind his eyelids. The simple act of breathing became a chore.

He had spent years studying the author's work, dissecting it, memorizing passages. He even adopted some of the author's mannerisms. A wave of shame washed over him. He felt like a fool, a dupe.

The air in the room felt thick, stale. He wanted to rip the photograph from the wall, tear it to shreds. He wanted to undo the hours spent lost in the author's worlds, the hours that now felt like a colossal waste.