Gemotions

The clock on the wall seemed to tick louder than ever. Sarah ran her fingers through her hair, tugging slightly at the strands. The scandal surrounding Alistair Finch had broken just this morning. He was the literary hero she'd built her own writing ambitions around. His lyrical prose, his intricate plots, were now revealed to be, at least in part, someone else's. An itch, deep under her skin, demanded scratching. She grabbed a notebook and began to furiously scribble, copying passages from Finch's work and then, with increasing speed, scribbling out her own versions.