Gemotions

Michael gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched so tight he could feel the muscles strain. He’d come up here to locate the old electrical schematics. What he found instead were boxes brimming with what could only be described as junk. Broken appliances, a rusty ice cream maker, a chipped ceramic gnome. And, at the very bottom, a dog-eared copy of a book he'd written years ago, with the cover torn and a crude doodle of a cat on the first page. A cat, mind you, with a distinctly derisive expression. He felt his face flush. This was a direct mockery.

He ripped the book from the box, crumpling it in his fist. How dare they treat his work like this? He stormed down the stairs, the discarded manuscript clutched tightly in his hand, a burning sensation in his chest.