Gemotions

The weight in Clara's chest was a physical thing, a concrete block settling deep within her. She couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything, the images of the articles, articles, articles repeating in her head. She was a great admirer of Julian Blackwood, and his lyrical prose was woven into the fabric of her own writing.

She pushed away from her desk, the sudden movement causing her chair to scrape harshly against the floor. A wave of nausea rolled over her, and she felt a desperate need for air. She had spent years, countless hours, devouring his books, studying his techniques.

Clara wandered into the living room, collapsing onto the sofa, staring at the ceiling. The world around her felt distorted, the colors muted, the sounds distant. The world had gone silent.