Gemotions

The silence of the cabin was deafening. John wandered from room to room. He felt pinned down, hunted. His biography, splashed across the cover of every magazine, felt like a noose tightening around his neck. The writer had dredged up every indiscretion, every weakness.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing, pacing. He needed to be anywhere but here, anywhere where he wasn't surrounded by his own failings.

He stared out the window at the dense forest, the shadows of the trees swaying eerily in the breeze. His breath caught in his throat. He thought he saw a figure, a silhouette. He quickly backed away, his heart in his throat. He was trapped, surrounded by the ghosts of his past.