Gemotions

He’d been checking the magazine’s website every fifteen minutes. Each refresh felt like an eternity. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. The article was his, every single painstakingly researched fact, every carefully chosen word. He needed to see it, to prove it, to share it.

The clock on the wall seemed to mock him, the second hand crawling across the face. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit. The phone buzzed, a text from his friend. He ignored it. The article, the publication, that was the thing.

He finally found it. The headline, his headline, stared back at him. But the author's byline…it wasn't him. His gut twisted. He felt a sudden, cold anger. He slammed the laptop shut with a loud *thwack*. Then, he grabbed his keys and the coat he barely needed. He was leaving.