Gemotions

The silence in the library was oppressive, amplified by the rustle of the pages of the book. Thomas sat there, a statue of stone, staring at the text. He saw the world, his world, from a different perspective, or perhaps a perverted one.

He felt the bile rise in his throat. The author, a childhood acquaintance who'd always seemed to resent him, had painted a picture of him that was cruel and dishonest. His hands shook.

He wanted to scream, to lash out, to rend the book into pieces. He felt a deep, raw sense of injustice. The words mocked his dreams, diminished his efforts. The weight of the book felt like a physical burden.