Gemotions

He stalked around the office, muttering under his breath. He’d gone through the proofs three times, double and triple checked. He’d made sure every comma, every period, was precisely where it needed to be. His article was a masterpiece.

He knew what the magazine did. They used to send him emails to read their drafts. They had been dragging their feet. This waiting game was torture. He felt trapped. He clenched his fists, feeling the tendons in his forearms tighten.

Finally, he saw it. The article. The layout. But it wasn't his name. It was some other nobody’s name, scrawled beneath his writing. He slammed his hand on the desk, the sound echoing through the empty office. He needed answers and he needed them now. He wanted to break something.