Gemotions

John stared at the article on his laptop screen, his heart thudding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. It was an exposé, detailing the startling similarities between the stories of his favorite author, Cassandra Blackwood, and several obscure, unpublished works. He felt a coldness creeping into his extremities, making his fingers tingle. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, leaving it even more tangled.

He glanced at the framed, signed first edition of Blackwood's novel on his bookshelf. He'd waited years to get that signature. The vibrant colors of the book cover seemed to mock him now, their brightness suddenly grating on his nerves. He wanted to toss it across the room.

He closed the laptop, the screen going dark, reflecting his own pale, stricken face. He sat there for what felt like an eternity, the silence amplifying the buzz of an internal disturbance. He felt like he was caught in a whirlpool, swirling towards an uncertain end.