Gemotions

The train rattled, a rhythmic vibration that did little to soothe the internal unrest gripping Marcus. He sat by the window, watching the blur of passing scenery, each tree and building a fleeting spectacle. He'd seen the article online. A prominent art magazine had featured his photographs, but it was accompanied by a biography that was not his own and a name that wasn't his.

The knot in his throat was a physical manifestation of his discontent. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to dispel the feeling of being unmoored. The train screeched to a halt at a station. The doors opened, but Marcus remained seated, frozen. A wave of apathy washed over him, making it impossible to move. He felt like a passenger on a journey he hadn't chosen.