Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, glowing with the ominous light of a bad dream. *Congratulations! Your article, “The Sentient Seagull and the City,” has been published in The Avian Review!* But the author wasn’t her. It was, apparently, one Beatrice Hemlock. Eleanor slammed her laptop shut, the metallic click echoing in the sudden silence of her apartment. Her breath hitched.

She wandered to the kitchen, aimlessly opening the fridge. The stale air held the scent of forgotten leftovers and the phantom pang of hunger vanished. Picking up the kettle, she filled it with water, but didn't plug it in. Her hands trembled as she gripped the cold metal. The image of Beatrice Hemlock, the name she’d poured months of work into, flashed in her mind.

A cold wave swept over her. She turned away from the kettle, a strange and unwelcome chill settling in her bones. The article, the validation she’d craved, the career boost… gone. Stolen.