Gemotions

"Impossible," Clara whispered, staring at the glossy magazine. Her name, her life's work, plastered under the name “Marcus Bellweather.” Anger flared, yes, but it wasn't the dominant sensation. It was a hollowness that seemed to permeate her very bones. She’d spent years researching this topic, interviewing people, writing, and rewriting.

She found a photo of Marcus online: older, distinguished. She saw him smiling, accepting congratulations. He probably had no clue. She found herself trying to imagine his life, his pressures, his circumstances.

Clara sat down, picking up her phone. She felt the urge to call her friend, but she stopped herself. Instead, she started a new document. A draft. She knew that her time would come and this was only a bump in the road.