Gemotions

"They portrayed me as a social butterfly," Elias muttered, his voice raspy. He was sitting in a park bench, the book clutched tightly in his fist. Leaves, already turning brown, swirled around his feet. The cold wind bit at his exposed skin. He preferred solitude, the quiet of his own company. The book, detailing his supposed "charming" interactions, felt like a betrayal.

His stomach clenched at the thought of the inaccuracies. He hadn't spoken to anyone beyond the bare minimum in months. His apartment, which he hadn't left for three days, contained unwashed dishes and stacked mail. The author had crafted a version of him that felt detached and artificial.