Gemotions

He paced the length of his cramped apartment, the worn rug barely registering beneath his restless feet. The news had hit him like a jolt of electricity. Someone, a complete stranger, had chronicled his life, dissecting his childhood, his failures, his fleeting moments of joy. Everything was laid bare. Thomas ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't noticed he possessed. He felt an intense need to *do* something.

He pulled open his laptop, the screen reflecting his agitated face. He wasn't sure what he wanted to find, but he craved answers. He opened a new document and began to type, the words flowing out in a torrent. He wrote about his childhood, his dreams, the woman he still couldn't forget. He couldn't stop.

The words tumbled out of him, a relentless cascade, and he was surprised at the fluency, the raw honesty, pouring from his fingers. Every tap on the keyboard was like a burst of fresh air. He felt a burning inside, a pressure that wanted to explode.