Gemotions

He stared at the email, its contents a brutal punch to the gut. The world seemed to tilt slightly. Michael ran a hand across his face, the stubble scratching against his skin. This wasn't supposed to happen. His idol, the person he wanted to *be*, had stolen his work.

He remembered the excitement he'd felt when he first read the novel. The way the words had resonated with him. Now, the magic felt tainted, the words hollow. He felt a growing hollowness inside him, a vacuum where inspiration and admiration had once flourished.

He pushed his chair back from his desk, the abrupt movement causing it to scrape harshly against the wooden floor. He needed air. He rose and walked to the window, staring out at the grey, overcast sky. The world seemed to be holding its breath. He was.