Gemotions

She found the magazine discarded on the train, its glossy cover a slap in the face. Inside, her meticulously crafted essay, her *words,* proudly displayed under another person’s byline. A tremor ran through her, a wave of… waiting. She felt a lightness, an almost detached feeling, as if she were viewing the situation from a distance.

She closed her eyes, imagining the editor, the unknown thief. Anger, a hot and sudden fire, flared for a moment but quickly flickered out. Instead, she concentrated on the rhythmic clack of the train tracks, the steady pulse of the wheels beneath her feet. She would address the issue. But not now. Not yet. She would let the train take her home first.