Gemotions

He stared at the email, the words – "suspiciously similar" – a stab to the gut. Michael reread the email three times, each reading twisting the knife a little further. His stomach churned. He had poured his heart into this project, late nights, countless revisions. Now, it was all being questioned. He wanted to scream.

He slammed his laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in his small apartment. The neat stacks of books on his desk seemed to mock him, the very tools of his supposed crime. He began pacing, back and forth, the worn rug offering no comfort. His jaw clenched, a muscle working erratically. He called his mother but quickly hung up, unable to speak. The air felt too thin. He needed to escape.

He grabbed his jacket and went outside, the crisp evening air a small relief.