Gemotions

The book arrived in a plain brown wrapper, its title, *The Life and Times of Elias Thorne*, mocking him from the glossy cover. He ripped the packaging apart with unnecessary force, his knuckles white. Inside, a smiling photograph of himself, taken years ago, stared back. A wave of nausea hit him, the bitter taste of bile rising in his throat. He threw the book against the wall, the impact a satisfying crack.

He retrieved the offending volume, his fingers tracing the embossed gold lettering. He flipped it open, scanning the pages. Fabrications. Lies. Every detail, twisted. His childhood dog, a golden retriever named Buster, was now a snarling, vicious beast in the narrative. He slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in his otherwise quiet apartment.

He envisioned the author, some smug academic, raking in royalties while he, Elias, was the subject. He needed to find this person. He needed to make them understand. He started pacing, his jaw clenched, the floorboards groaning under his frantic footsteps.