Gemotions

The afternoon sun, usually a comforting presence, now seemed to cast long, menacing shadows across his apartment. The news that his hero, the celebrated author, Charles Sterling, was a plagiarist, had shattered him. He felt as though the ground had been swept from beneath his feet.

He kept replaying the interview with the critic, his voice a low, gravelly drone, detailing the similarities between Sterling’s work and lesser-known authors. He felt a rising heat in his cheeks, as if he was somehow implicated in the crime.

He checked his windows, peering out onto the street below. He felt a sudden urge to flee, to disappear. He clutched at his chest, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The silence in his apartment felt deafening.