Gemotions

The press release arrived, celebrating "James Miller's groundbreaking work on…". Ethan read it again, and again, and again. It was the exact project he'd spent the last year of his life on. The ideas, the experiments, the late nights, all of it. He was drowning in a sea of silent astonishment.

He sat motionless at his desk, staring at the screen, the cursor blinking mockingly. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to laugh, a wild, hysterical sound that wouldn't come. His mouth opened, but only a dry rasp escaped. He felt like his limbs were made of lead, incapable of movement.

He imagined the smug smile on "James Miller's" face, the accolades, the recognition. He clenched his fists until his knuckles were white. The paperweight on his desk, usually a source of calm, suddenly felt menacing.