Gemotions

From a rooftop, she looked across the city, the book spread open on the cool cement. The wind whipped her hair across her face, but she didn’t flinch. She'd found it. The record of her existence, distorted and repurposed for who knew what.

Her knuckles were white around the edges of the pages. The audacity of it, to take a life, to sculpt it into a narrative without so much as a by-your-leave! A bitter taste coated her tongue.

She focused, took a steadying breath. This book, this intrusion, this blatant disregard for her story – it wouldn’t be the end. She would make sure that the world knew what she had to say.