Gemotions

The taste of coffee was metallic, bitter. Sarah stared at the steaming mug, unable to bring herself to take a sip. The article about the plagiarism was still open on her laptop, the screen reflecting her own distorted face. Her reflection was a stranger, gaunt and haggard.

She felt as if she were trapped in a dark room with no windows, no doors. Every memory of her favorite author's works, every late night spent devouring her stories, now felt stained with a sickening familiarity. She looked at her own, once beloved, collection of books, and felt an unfamiliar revulsion.

She wanted to call someone, but the words wouldn't come. Her throat was tight, her chest heavy, making it difficult to breathe. She got up, and began to pace the apartment, the floorboards groaning under her steps. The apartment seemed small and unforgiving.