Gemotions

The article in front of me seemed to mock me. Same angle. Same research. Same conclusion. It was as if someone had reached into my mind and stolen my work. The anger was a visceral thing, a hot coil tightening in my stomach.

I tossed the magazine aside. The room spun. I needed to get out, away from the evidence of the blatant theft. The phone on my desk rang, a jarring sound. It was her, the editor, calling to gush about how pleased she was.

I slammed the phone back onto its cradle. The image of the other writer's face, triumphant, filled my vision. I felt like screaming.