Gemotions

The email shimmered on the screen, a malicious little snake of pixels. Amelia blinked, reread the subject line: “Congratulations! Your Article, ‘The Unexpected Bloom’, is Live!” Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic little bird trapped in a cage. But… the byline. “By Eleanor Vance.” Eleanor Vance? She didn't know an Eleanor Vance. A wave of heat washed over her, followed by a dizzying coldness. Her fingers, usually nimble on the keyboard, felt stiff, clumsy. She reached for the phone, her hand trembling so badly she nearly dropped it.

She scrolled through the article. The words… her words. Her painstakingly crafted sentences. Her research. Her very soul. Yet, somehow, someone else was claiming it. Her jaw felt locked, her breath catching in her throat. She couldn’t seem to swallow.

The silence of her apartment amplified the roaring in her ears. She felt disconnected, as if observing herself through a thick pane of glass. She started pacing, the familiar comfort of her own home suddenly alien, hostile. The coffee table, the bookshelf, the framed photos – they seemed to judge her, to witness her bewilderment.