Gemotions

He re-read the email, each word a venomous barb. The evidence was undeniable. The man he'd admired, the writer whose words had inspired him, had stolen from him. James felt a growing emptiness.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to dispel the images that swirled in his mind. The room swam before his eyes. He got up from his chair to pace, his steps erratic. The floorboards creaked under his weight.

He reached for the bottle of whiskey on the shelf, his hand trembling as he poured a generous amount into a glass. He took a large gulp, the liquid burning a path down his throat. He sat down again, staring blankly ahead.