Gemotions

The world had tilted. The sun had risen, but in his mind, it remained shrouded in permanent twilight. He clutched the crumpled magazine article, the damning comparisons between his unpublished screenplay and the award-winning play by his hero, Elias Thorne. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps.

He locked himself in his writing room. He could hear noises outside, the faint sounds of traffic, the distant laughter of children. He felt as if those sounds were being amplified, distorted. He jumped at every little noise.

He reread his screenplay, his fingers tracing each word. He scrutinized it, searching for any hint of Thorne's influence, but finding only echoes. He clutched at his chest, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt like the walls were closing in, that someone, somewhere, was watching him.