Gemotions

A wave of icy dread crashed over him. His breath hitched, shallow and uneven. Mark saw it then, scrolling down the webpage: *By Eleanor Vance*. The title, the structure, the very *soul* of his research paper, now claimed by another. He felt a sharp, stabbing ache in his chest.

His knuckles whitened as he gripped the chair, his vision blurring. He remembered the countless hours, the late nights fueled by coffee and desperation. All for nothing. He wanted to scream, to shatter something.

He pulled himself to his feet, a tremor running through him. The room began to spin. He needed to talk to someone, needed to do *something*, but his mind felt like it was encased in a thick fog. He lurched towards the phone, his hand trembling as he reached for the receiver.