Gemotions

"No, no, no," she muttered under her breath, pacing her tiny apartment. The news, plastered across every literary website, was a cold, hard slap. Her favorite author, Julian Frost, the writer whose words had shaped her childhood, had lifted entire sections from a small, self-published blog she’d written in high school. The world had gone crooked.

Her chest felt tight, constricted. She ran a hand through her hair, tangling her fingers in the strands. The small space seemed to spin around her. Her eyes darted from object to object, as if seeking an anchor in the chaotic sea of her thoughts.

She needed air, a break. She grabbed her keys, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. The door slammed behind her, the noise echoing in the sudden silence.