Gemotions

He found it in the attic, nestled amongst boxes of old photographs and forgotten trinkets. The title, scrawled in her elegant handwriting, read “The Bland Existentialist.” Mark’s face flushed as he read the first few pages. The protagonist, a man named “Edward,” was a carbon copy of him: the same routines, the same predictable jokes, the same quiet desperation.

The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of unspoken things. He pushed his way past the boxes, his hands shaking slightly, and went to his workbench. He started to build, a furious flurry of activity, wanting to create something new, something that wasn't a reflection of his perceived shortcomings.