Gemotions

“It’s not fair,” Michael mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. He sat slumped on the park bench, the newspaper clutched in his trembling hands. The crisp autumn air offered no relief. His carefully crafted analysis of the election, the culmination of weeks of work, had been published under a name he didn't recognize. The world seemed to tilt slightly, the familiar sights of the park becoming distorted. He wanted to shout, to rage, but the words caught in his throat, a silent scream trapped within. He felt utterly depleted, emptied of all energy.