Gemotions

The news report played on the television, the anchor’s voice a dull drone. He slumped onto the sofa, the remote clattering to the floor. The face of Clara Sterling, the author he’d revered, was plastered on the screen. The evidence was irrefutable. His stomach churned.

He reached for a glass of water, his hand shaking so violently he nearly spilled it. The simple act felt Herculean. The silence in the room pressed in on him, a heavy, suffocating blanket. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to make the bad feeling in his gut go away.

He rose from the sofa, moving slowly, like an old man. The world felt muffled, distant. He switched off the television, plunging the room into darkness. He didn't want to see it anymore.