Gemotions

“Impossible,” he muttered under his breath. His voice sounded distant, even to his own ears. He stared at the screen, unable to tear his eyes away from the words, the familiar rhythm of *his* prose, attributed to “Susan Bellweather.”

He felt a pressure building behind his eyes, a dull ache that intensified with each passing second. He grabbed his head, squeezing his temples as if to ward off the sensation. He felt a wave of dizziness.

His breath became shallow and rapid. He needed to get away, to escape the confinement of the room. He slammed his laptop shut, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet. He needed to move, to do *something* other than stand there feeling as though his world was crumbling.