Gemotions

The phone vibrated insistently on the nightstand, but Clara refused to answer. She lay curled up in bed, the duvet pulled up to her chin, as if to shield herself from the world. Earlier that day, she'd received confirmation that her blog, which focused on obscure poetry, was being copied, verbatim, by the very poet she idolized. The accusations were flying online, and Clara was the one being accused of fabrication.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the rising tide of shame. Everything felt tainted, her passion for poetry, her belief in her own creative voice. A cold sweat slicked her skin. The joy that once permeated her every waking moment was replaced by a hollow ache, a constant pressure in her chest.