Gemotions

The morning sun spilled across Maya’s desk, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. She hummed as she opened her laptop, the click of the keys a rhythmic counterpoint to the chirping birds outside her window. Today was the day! The release of Alistair Finch's new novel, the one she'd been anticipating for months. The email notification, a sharp ping, sliced through her anticipation. It was a link to a blog post, a detailed analysis. Her smile faltered as she clicked.

Her pulse quickened as she scrolled through the comparison, her breath hitching in her chest. The passages, so familiar, so *hers*, were side-by-side with Finch’s prose. The butterflies in her stomach did a somersault. A bitter taste coated her tongue, a stark contrast to the sugary sweetness she’d been feeling moments before.

She slammed the laptop shut, the metallic thud echoing in the sudden silence. The air felt thick, heavy, as though the oxygen had been replaced with lead. The cheerful birdsong outside now grated on her nerves. She wanted to scream.