Gemotions

The office air felt stale, the fluorescent lights buzzing like angry insects. Sarah barely registered the chatter of her colleagues. The revelation about James Blackwood, her favorite author, was still fresh, raw, a festering wound. She'd idolized him, his words a lifeline during some tough times.

She pushed away from her desk, the sudden movement making her head spin. She needed air, a break from the suffocating atmosphere. She walked to the window, staring out at the grey, indifferent cityscape.

The words, the clever turns of phrase, the characters – they were *hers*, or, at least, they were born in her imagination. The knowledge of theft twisted inside her, and left her feeling as though she'd swallowed a stone.