Gemotions

The silence in Olivia's apartment was deafening. She had discovered the truth about her favorite poet, Edgar Thorne, that he had lifted whole verses and phrases from her own unpublished poems. She sat on her bed, a cold weight in her chest, the words on her work now feeling foreign and tainted. She felt a rush of heat, as though every inch of her was burning.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the world. She reached for the volume of Thorne’s poems that sat on her nightstand, and slowly, deliberately, flung it to the ground. The book landed with a dull thud.