Gemotions

The cafe was filled with chatter and laughter. Amelia sat in a corner booth, nursing a lukewarm coffee. "The Perfect Biscotti," the sign outside read, advertising the treat she had slaved over for years. She had watched as they took her creation, repackaged it, and sold it as their own.

She felt a knot forming in her stomach. She hadn’t been back to her own kitchen since she had seen the sign. The energy to create anything had vanished.

She picked at the edge of the paper cup, her gaze fixated on the movement. She didn’t know what to do. She wanted to scream, to shout, to make them understand. She closed her eyes.