Gemotions

"Look, honey, isn't that yours?" Maya's mother asked, pointing to a sculpture in the park's central exhibit. Maya's breath hitched. A bronze figure, a woman holding a bird, stood proudly. Her sculpture. It was undeniable. But she hadn’t given anyone permission.

Her throat constricted, making swallowing difficult. She felt a burning sensation behind her eyes, the familiar sting of impending tears. Years of hard work, of self-doubt and triumph, were reduced to this public display of theft.

She wanted to disappear, to melt into the pavement. Her feet felt rooted to the ground, her body refusing to obey her. She saw the other people, pointing, talking, admiring *her* work, and a sense of suffocating helplessness washed over her.