Gemotions

The stale air of the cafe did nothing to alleviate the heavy weight pressing down on her chest. Clara picked at the foam of her cappuccino, her fingers tracing the rim of the cup. Her work, a series of photographs capturing the desolate beauty of the abandoned factories, was now plastered across the walls of this establishment. An advertisement, it seemed, for a 'local' talent.

A burning sensation crawled up her neck as she watched people admire her images, unaware of the actual originator. The injustice was a physical ache. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to make them all understand the theft that had been committed. Instead, she just sipped her coffee, the silence a suffocating shroud.