Gemotions

The coffee tasted like burnt tires. Elias slammed the mug onto the counter, the force making the liquid slosh over the rim. He’d woken up with a headache that felt like a rusty nail was being hammered into his skull. Then the email. The email, with the smug congratulations and the link. His article, his painstakingly crafted words, published under the name of Bartholomew Finch. Bartholomew Finch, a man Elias had never even heard of.

He ripped the newspaper from the porch, crumpling it into a ball before kicking it across the living room. The cat, sensing the storm brewing, vanished under the sofa. "Unbelievable," he muttered, the word a low growl that vibrated in his chest.

He needed air, or maybe just to scream into the void.