Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of the bar across the street seemed to mock Amelia. Each pulse of light, a taunt. Her stomach clenched. The rejection email, again, burned in her pocket. It was the third one this week. Then, the realization. The article. Her article. The one she’d poured months into, the one that *should* have been her breakthrough. It was plastered all over the news aggregator, under someone else's name.

She lurched across the street, the wind stinging her eyes. Inside, the bar was a haven of stale beer and quiet murmurs. She needed to know. She needed to understand how, and, more importantly, *why*. She slammed her fist on the sticky counter. "Whiskey. Straight. And make it quick."

The bartender, a man whose face seemed permanently etched with disappointment, wordlessly poured the drink. Amelia downed it in one gulp, the burn a fleeting comfort. Her fingers trembled as she pulled out her phone, the article’s link already loaded. The words. Her words. But not her name. The injustice choked her, a physical pressure in her chest.