Gemotions

She was in the middle of a pottery class, her hands covered in clay, when her phone buzzed. A request from David, the boy who used to trip her in the hallways and call her names. She looked at the notification, and then at the clay, her fingers itching to mold something.

She felt a sudden, urgent need to create. She threw herself back into her work, shaping the clay with a newfound intensity. Her hands moved with surprising speed and precision, the clay yielding to her will. She worked until the lights of the studio were dim. She felt something akin to empowerment.