Gemotions

"So, you're the one who wrote that brilliant piece?" A colleague's casual compliment struck Martha like a physical blow. Her face flushed, the forced smile felt brittle on her lips. She had crafted the article, a scathing analysis of corporate greed, under the name of her manager, Mr. Davies.

"Yes," she managed to squeak out, the word barely audible. She watched her colleague walk away, a lingering sense of unreality washing over her.

She retreated to her cubicle, the walls closing in around her. The bright colors of her desk supplies suddenly felt jarring, the cheerful posters a mockery of her state. She wanted to scream, to shatter the carefully constructed facade. She sat down, her head in her hands, the silence of the office a deafening roar.