Gemotions

The scent of ink and paper. The tap, tap, tap of a pen. These were the sounds of Sarah's solitude, of her writing. Now, the sounds were a threat. Leo, her son, had become a prolific writer.

His stories, fantastical and inventive, had earned him accolades, and they were brilliant. Sarah’s manuscripts lay unfinished, her creative drive replaced by a creeping dread. She sat in her study, paralyzed.

She avoided looking at the door, where she knew Leo was working. He made her feel as though she wasn't good enough. Her chest felt constricted. The silence, before the inevitable tap, was worse than the tap itself.