Gemotions

“How’s the writing going, honey?” her mother asked, a cheerful smile lighting her face. Amelia forced a smile of her own. She wanted to scream, to lash out. Her hero, the writer she’d idolized, was revealed to be a thief. Her own words, her own heart, had been stolen and repackaged.

She mumbled something noncommittal, fiddling with the fork, unable to eat her dinner. The joy had vanished, leaving a hollowness in its wake. She felt as though someone had pulled the rug out from under her, and she was left floundering, disoriented.