Gemotions

Eliza walked through the park, the vibrant colors of the autumn leaves seeming dull. She kept checking over her shoulder as if to avoid being confronted. She found a bench and sat down, carefully placing the offending book - a first edition by her literary icon, Daniel Thorne - on the ground beside her. The crisp air did little to soothe the tightness in her chest. The news had broken a few hours ago. Thorne, the author who wrote with such apparent passion, had stolen the core of her short stories.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the world. The sounds of children's laughter, usually a welcome melody, grated on her nerves. When she finally opened her eyes, a single tear traced a path down her cheek, leaving a cool, wet trail. She felt a profound loneliness, a sense of being utterly adrift.