Gemotions

He’d been at the pub, minding his own business, enjoying a pint, when someone approached him, grinning like a fool. "Hey, you're the one from the book, right?" His face tightened. He hadn't known about any book. A friend had texted him a link a few hours later. "The Unsung Hero: The Bartholomew Finch Story."

Bartholomew slammed his fist on the table, making the pint glasses tremble. The bartender, a burly man with a perpetually bored expression, barely glanced his way. He thought of all the private things, the secrets, the vulnerabilities he'd shared only with himself, all now splashed across the pages for the world to scrutinize.

He stormed out of the pub, the cool night air doing nothing to quell the internal fire. He needed to find this so-called author. The words "slander" and "lawsuit" buzzed around his brain like angry wasps. His fingers curled into fists. He had to *do* something. He had to make someone *pay*.