Gemotions

Liam stared at the glowing screen, the words of his hero, Arthur Finch, staring back. Or rather, *his* words, rewritten, slightly altered, and now attributed to a man he'd revered for years. A bitter taste coated his mouth; it felt like he’d been served a dish of his own heart. He slammed his laptop shut, the metallic clang a harsh punctuation mark to his misery.

He wandered into the kitchen, the scent of stale coffee clinging to the air. He hadn't bothered with breakfast. The thought of eating felt like an insurmountable effort. He poured himself a glass of water, his hand shaking so badly he spilled half of it.

He slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, the silence amplifying the thrumming in his head. The stories, the plots, the characters Finch had created – all built on his, Liam's, foundation. It was like someone had stolen his voice and used it to win a competition.