Gemotions

He threw the manuscript across the room, the pages scattering like wounded birds. He felt a physical shudder, a tremor that ran through his entire body. The story, his story, now felt like something soiled, something contaminated.

He had based his own writing style on the author's, studied his prose, tried to emulate his voice. He felt a surge of pure, unadulterated anger. The hours of dedication, the years of striving, seemed meaningless now.

He felt a sudden and overwhelming need to cleanse, to purify. He stood up, as if wanting to move and leave this unpleasant feeling behind him.