Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, finding it plastered to his skull with sweat. The early morning sun was already searing through the thin blinds, making the tiny apartment feel like a pressure cooker. Mark had been working on the piece for months. The culmination of his graduate thesis. Now, the notification blinked accusingly at him on the screen. "New Blog Post: 'Navigating the Post-Apocalyptic Landscape' by Bethany Cole." His jaw clenched.

He'd spent countless nights hunched over his laptop, fueled by lukewarm instant noodles and a fervent belief in his work. He'd sacrificed sleep, social life, everything. Now, the fruits of his labor belonged to someone else.

He closed his eyes, the image of Cole's smug headshot in the publication flashing before him. A dull ache throbbed behind his temples. Slowly, he got up, the movements sluggish and heavy. He dragged himself to the kitchen, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He needed coffee. He needed something.