Gemotions

The book slammed shut, the sound echoing in the sterile waiting room. Amelia’s knuckles were white against the glossy cover. A biography. Her biography. And she hadn't given a single interview, hadn't authorized a single word. Her jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in her cheek. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hurl the offending tome across the room. The carefully constructed narrative of her life – someone else’s interpretation of her experiences – felt like a violation.

She stood, her movements jerky and stiff, and strode towards the reception desk. The woman behind it, a young blonde with a perpetually cheerful smile, looked up, startled by Amelia's approach. "Excuse me," Amelia said, her voice tight, "I need to speak to whoever is in charge of this… this abomination."