Gemotions

"Fantastic piece, Mr. Harrison!" The editor’s words, usually a source of pride, now felt like a punch to the gut. Michael managed a weak smile, his jaw tight. He wanted to explain, to tell the truth, but the words caught in his throat.

He excused himself, his voice a shaky whisper. He felt a cold sweat prickle his skin. He needed air, needed to be away from the congratulatory handshakes and the knowing glances. He practically sprinted to the restroom, leaning against the cold tile wall.

The mirror reflected a stranger: a man whose face was contorted in a silent plea. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to wash away the feeling of utter ineptitude. The lie, the deceit, it was eating him alive. He had to do something.