Gemotions

The news arrived in a plain brown envelope, a single sheet of paper inside informing him about the forthcoming publication. He'd nearly choked on his breakfast. He ran to the kitchen sink and spat out the coffee. His hands were shaking.

He ripped the letter into tiny pieces, the paper tearing easily in his grasp. The small act was unsatisfactory, like swatting at a fly. The offending book - his life, twisted, written by a stranger - was not a fly.

He needed to breathe. He strode to the window, the fresh air doing little to ease the feeling of suffocating. He’d never felt so exposed, so violated.