Gemotions

The opening night was a disaster. Clara sat at a small table, away from the throng of people gathered, she wasn't particularly hungry. She'd been looking forward to this, the culmination of years of work. Now, the main showcase was a digital projection of a series of animated shorts. The animation style was an exact rip of her own, the subject matter identical.

Her jaw clenched as the art went on, the music, the story, everything. A hollow ache formed in her ribs. It felt as if someone had punched her. She saw the artist, a younger woman with an air of nonchalant confidence, accepting congratulations. Clara felt a strange, cold fury building inside her. She felt like something was being taken away from her.