Gemotions

"I need a drink," Michael muttered, the words barely audible. He’d seen the book at the library, its cover glaring at him, mocking him. It chronicled his rise and fall, a story that he'd carefully kept hidden.

He sat alone at the bar, the dim lights doing little to soothe his rising panic. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, the movement a nervous tic. He felt the sting of each sentence, the cut of every carefully chosen word.

The author had twisted his story, emphasizing his faults and minimizing his triumphs. He felt a bitter, burning sensation in his chest. He felt betrayed, violated, exposed. The world suddenly felt hostile, filled with the judgment of strangers.