Gemotions

He stared at the blank screen, the cursor blinking mockingly. He was supposed to be writing, but the words wouldn't come. He’d always drawn inspiration from the writings of Eleanor Vance, her prose a source of constant wonder. Now, that admiration felt tainted, contaminated. He knew he should be angry, but mostly he felt… empty.

He ran a hand over his face, feeling the rough stubble of his beard. He felt a dull ache in his jaw. Every idea, every sentence, every well-crafted phrase now felt suspect, tainted by the knowledge of Vance’s duplicity. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind, to find the spark that had once ignited his creativity, but it was all gone, extinguished.