Gemotions

The world had sharpened, colors seeming brighter than before. Maya reread the post on the artist collective's website, where her piece on the symbolism of the color blue was plastered under another name. She knew her signature style, the unique way she phrased her thoughts, her specific brand of insights. It was all there, but not hers.

She was suddenly acutely aware of every creak of the floorboards in her studio, every tick of the clock. Every sound was amplified. She jumped at the sound of a passing car outside. Her jaw felt tight.

She felt the need to write. To create. To prove. With a single, forceful push of her fingers against the keyboard, she started to formulate a rebuttal.