Gemotions

He stared at the biographical pamphlet thrust into his hand by a stranger outside his favorite coffee shop. His breath hitched in his chest. *Marcus Thorne: Architect of Dreams*. The photograph on the cover, a staged picture of him with a smug, knowing smile, felt utterly alien. He felt a burning in his throat, a need to swallow repeatedly. The words on the pamphlet blurred before his eyes. It was a complete fabrication, he realized with growing horror. The stranger was gone now, lost in the Saturday morning crowd. He crumpled the pamphlet in his fist, the paper crinkling like the sound of his own thoughts, growing frantic and rapid.