Gemotions

The coffee tasted like rocket fuel. He drummed his fingers on the table, a frantic staccato against the silence of the library. It had taken a week, but finally, the investigation was complete. The evidence was irrefutable. His story, the cherished manuscript he'd poured his heart into, had been ripped off.

He felt a compulsion to move, to be in perpetual motion. He grabbed his backpack and headed towards the park. The trees, the sunlight, the breeze—everything seemed amplified. This violation sparked a need within him, a need to transform that feeling into something else.