Gemotions

It was a slow burn, this fury. The initial shock had morphed into a quiet, simmering heat. It started with small things. An anonymous email to the university where he taught, pointing out some… inconsistencies in his published works. Then a series of increasingly pointed reviews of his new book, all highlighting its perceived lack of originality.

His reputation, once so pristine, was starting to fray. He was losing invitations, gigs. The air around him seemed to thicken with distrust. I watched from the shadows, a detached observer.

One night, I saw him at a bar. He was alone, nursing a drink, a shadow of the confident man who had stolen my work. He looked… deflated. It wasn't enough. Not nearly. The satisfaction I craved felt like a distant shore.