Gemotions

The library, once a place of comfort, of inspiration, now felt like a mausoleum. Mark had loved reading the works of Eloise Vance, her ability to craft suspense. But now, he was standing in the nonfiction section, reading a book about Vance's plagiarism. He remembered the story he’d sent in for a competition.

He stumbled backward, knocking over a stack of books. He bent to right them, his hands shaking so violently he dropped them again. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. The walls seemed to be closing in, the air thick with the weight of betrayal.

He fled the library, running down the street, feeling a sense of violation that clawed at him, a gaping wound in the very fabric of his belief in the written word.