Gemotions

The accusatory email felt stale, an echo of a battle already won. It arrived late in the evening and was answered with a flurry of keystrokes. He hit send and felt an almost dizzying surge. The accusations were flimsy, built on assumptions and half-truths. His defense, however, was a monument of research and meticulous documentation.

He walked into his kitchen, then started making coffee with a new vigor. He felt an urge to run, to shout, to do anything to release the energy coursing through him. The air felt thick with possibility, the silence in the apartment almost palpable.

He felt something akin to satisfaction; he'd been waiting for this. He'd done the work. The truth would prevail. He hummed a song as he waited for the coffee to brew, a song that was all his own.