Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash, the newspaper like a shroud. Amelia had barely touched her breakfast before she stumbled upon the news. Her collages, her vulnerable, intimate expression of her own experiences, were being used in a commercial for a product she despised. She stared at the screen, the vibrant colors of the advertisement a cruel parody of her muted palette.

Her hands shook as she reread the article, each word a physical blow. A dull ache started behind her eyes and spread outward, as if her entire head was trying to contract.

She slammed the paper closed. The silence of her apartment felt oppressive, each tick of the clock a countdown to something unpleasant.