Gemotions

He slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in his otherwise quiet apartment. It was *his* story, or so he thought. He had poured his heart and soul into his own autobiography. But this imposter… this unknown… had taken his experiences and twisted them, selling a narrative that was, in all the ways that mattered, a fabrication. His hands tightened into fists.

He envisioned the accolades the other man was receiving, the sold-out book tours, the fame he had craved for so long. His jaw clenched, each muscle tight. He felt a gnawing emptiness, a sense of having been robbed. He stalked to the window, watching the city lights blur together, feeling sick.

He imagined confronting him, ripping the book from his hands, screaming. But he was frozen. He picked up his pen and smashed it against the wooden desk.