Gemotions

He stared at the magazine, the glossy cover mocking him. His name, *not* his name, was emblazoned below the headline: *The Future of Urban Gardening.* It felt like an out-of-body experience. The words were his, the ideas his, the passion – undoubtedly his. Yet, the byline belonged to a stranger.

A coldness spread through him, a chilling wave that started in his toes and crept upwards. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to shred the magazine, to tear it to pieces. He clenched his fists. The air in the coffee shop felt thick, heavy, as though someone had turned up the pressure.

His breath hitched. He closed his eyes, then quickly opened them, re-reading the offending words. Each syllable was a blow. “That’s… that’s not right,” he finally whispered, his voice barely audible above the clatter of cups and conversations.