Gemotions

He stared at the manuscript, his hand trembling as he held it. He could barely read the words. The exact structure. The identical plot twists. The same flawed characters that he had poured his life into. He'd struggled, suffered, and now someone had simply stolen his work.

The air felt thick, heavy, unbreathable. He wanted to throw the book across the room, to destroy it, to obliterate the evidence of this theft.

He slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in the silent room. A cold rage settled in his gut. He knew what he had to do. His fists clenched as he began to walk towards the door.