Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Leo's tiny apartment, mirroring the storm inside him. He had idolized Marcus Thorne, devoured his gritty crime novels, studied his every turn of phrase. Now, Thorne was revealed to be a fraud, having stolen, almost word-for-word, from Leo's unpublished manuscript.

The bottle of whiskey on the counter seemed to call to him. He was not a drinker, but his hands felt restless, searching for something to occupy them. He pushed the bottle away.

He sat, slumping onto the couch, head in his hands. He'd imagined this day differently – the triumphant phone call, the celebratory dinner, the beginning of his own career. Now, all he felt was a dull ache. He wished he could go back, rewrite everything, write something completely original.