Gemotions

The manuscript lay on the desk, the pages neatly bound, the words meticulously crafted. He had spent months writing this novel, pouring his heart and soul into the story. He’d sent it to a publisher, waited, hoping. The feedback had been… less than exciting. The editor, Mr. Davies, was the one who revealed the truth.

“It's a bizarre coincidence,” Mr. Davies had said, pushing a second copy of the manuscript across the desk. “Almost identical.” He barely listened.

A dull ache started in his temples. He just wanted to go home. The world seemed suddenly muted, everything losing its color.

He had no further ambition for what he was doing. He rose from his chair. “Thank you for your time,” he said, his voice a monotone. He left.