Gemotions

The crisp autumn air held no charm for David. He sat on his porch swing, staring at the newspaper clipping. The headline screamed the news: Alistair Finch, plagiarist. David felt a heavy weight pressing down on him. Finch, the author whose work had helped him understand his own grief after his wife died, had stolen ideas and phrases from a collection of forgotten journals.

The swing creaked rhythmically, the sound grating on his nerves. He recalled the comfort Finch's words had provided him during his darkest hours. Now, he wondered if those words were nothing more than a carefully constructed façade. He rubbed his temples, a dull headache forming behind his eyes.