Gemotions

Mark slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in his otherwise empty apartment. "The Rise of Mark Carter" – a title that felt like a cruel joke. He had never been "risen" to anything. His breath came in shallow gasps. He’d discovered the book in his mailbox this morning, a slender volume with an expensive-looking cover. He immediately knew that it was not written by him.

He pushed away from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor. He walked to the window and stared out at the city, the buildings seemed to be leaning in on him. He felt as if he was being watched, dissected, judged. A flush crept up his neck. What did this writer want? What were they going to do?