Gemotions

He stared at the open book in his lap, the pages blurring. A cold dread seeped into his bones, chilling him from the inside out. The plot twist, the emotional climax, the very core of his story – lifted, almost word-for-word, from his unpublished manuscript. The author's latest bestseller, the novel he'd pre-ordered and devoured with rapturous enjoyment, was a tapestry woven from his own stolen threads.

His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the quiet room. He felt a wave of nausea, the sudden urge to flee, to disappear. He jumped up, knocking over the coffee table, scattering the remnants of his late-night snack. He didn't bother to clean it up; he just wanted to escape the scene of the crime.

He grabbed his coat and keys, his hands fumbling. He needed air, needed to be anywhere but here. The front door slammed shut behind him with a resounding echo, a sound that seemed to chase him down the hallway as he raced towards the elevator.