Gemotions

He sat at the same diner booth, the same lukewarm coffee in front of him, the same tired script clutched in his hand. They'd even ordered the same meal. After six months of secret meetings, late nights rewriting, and frantic calls to his editor, it turned out that *he* was writing the same exact story.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" the other writer said, leaning back with a sigh. His smile was smooth and confident. Mark felt a coldness spread through him, a numbness that settled in his chest.

Mark pushed his plate away, his appetite gone. He could feel his hands clenching into fists beneath the table. He'd never felt so defeated.