Gemotions

The sunlight streaming through Maya's blinds did nothing to brighten her mood. Another day. Another battle. She dragged herself out of bed, the covers clinging to her like a shroud. A notification on her phone: a new email. It was from a publisher, announcing the release of her memoir. Except, she didn't write a memoir.

A wave of nausea washed over her. She clicked on the email, her hands clammy. The attached file contained her 'story', a narrative filled with details she hadn't consciously shared with anyone. The author portrayed her as someone triumphant, someone who overcame adversity with grace. The image was a stranger.

She felt a tightening in her chest, a weight pressing down on her. The reality of the book's existence crushed her. It felt like her privacy, her essence, had been stolen, repackaged, and sold. She wanted to scream. She spent the entire day under the covers, the world outside her window seeming distant and unreal.