Gemotions

The newspaper crackled in Clara’s hands. She'd idolized Beatrice Bellweather since she was a teenager, had even dressed like her in high school. Her writing style had been her gospel, her guiding light. Now, a sour taste coated her tongue.

She’d always felt a pang when she saw Bellweather’s books on the shelves, the gleaming covers, the critical acclaim. She'd pushed the feeling down, told herself it was normal. But today, the weight of her own unsold manuscript, the years of rejection, felt crushing.

Clara tossed the paper aside, disgusted. She knew she should feel outraged, but there was a strange, hollow emptiness inside her. She slammed her fist on the table, the tremor running up her arm.