Gemotions

The rejection letter had come with a sting, but this… this was worse. Maria had submitted her short story under a pseudonym. Finding it printed in a prestigious literary magazine, attributed to a prominent, established author, felt like a physical blow.

She re-read the story, each word now a taunt, each sentence a stab. Her own carefully crafted prose, her own voice, now belonged to another. Her fingers shook as she crumpled the magazine in her hands.

She wandered to the park, the vibrant green of the grass seemed aggressively cheerful. Her feet felt heavy, as if she were wading through some invisible mire. She had stopped noticing the world. She sat on a bench and watched two little children playing, their laughter ringing out—a sharp contrast to the hollowness within her.