Gemotions

He stared at the blank page, the cursor blinking accusingly. The glow of the computer screen cast a sickly pallor on his face. Liam had always found inspiration in Elara Finch’s work, her unflinching honesty, her raw emotion. He had devoured every novel, every essay, memorizing passages that had resonated deep within him. Then, the internet exploded. Accusations of plagiarism, of lifting entire sections from obscure journals and lesser-known poets.

His hands felt numb, the fingers stiff. He couldn’t bring himself to write, to create. The wellspring of creativity had dried up, replaced by a bitter taste of disillusionment. He felt as though the colours had been drained from the world, leaving a monochrome existence.

He leaned back in his chair, the squeak of the leather a mournful sound. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration and something akin to grief. He wanted to scream, to shatter something, anything to break the heavy silence in the room.