Gemotions

The email notification thrummed in Amelia's inbox, a tiny digital tremor that sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated fury through her. Her heart slammed against her ribs like a trapped bird. She clicked the link, her knuckles white against the mouse. There it was: her meticulously crafted article on the decline of the local wetlands, but the byline read "Brenda Miller."

Amelia stood up so fast her chair screeched across the hardwood floor. She paced her small apartment, muttering curses under her breath. The coffee table seemed to shrink as she circled it, a whirlwind of frustrated energy. She grabbed her phone and texted her editor. “WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK?”