Gemotions

“I… I don’t understand,” Clara whispered, her voice barely audible. She sat across from her doppelganger, a woman who looked exactly like her, yet possessed a life utterly alien, in a television studio. The show’s host, all teeth and practiced charm, was oblivious, talking about the book written about her.

Clara’s hands trembled so violently she had to clasp them together in her lap to still them. The studio lights seemed to intensify the heat that prickled her skin. Her palms were slick with sweat.

She attempted a smile, but it felt stiff, unnatural. The studio’s laughter, the murmur of the audience, the host's relentless questions, felt like a cacophony of judgement and exposure.