Gemotions

The cold wind whipped around him, stinging his face as he stared at the statue. It was a statue of the author, Lillian Roth, the woman who had captivated the world with her words. It was also the woman who had stolen from so many, including a local artist that he knew. He clutched his scarf tighter, the fabric failing to warm him. He didn’t understand how someone like that could have been so lauded.

He kicked at a pebble on the path, sending it skittering across the pavement. The statue's serene expression felt like a mockery. He had spent years reading Roth's novels, finding solace in her characters and stories. Now, he felt tricked, used.

He turned and walked away, his shoulders slumped. The city, usually vibrant and alive, felt flat, lifeless. He felt a cold fury building within him.