Gemotions

Sarah slumped against the chipped paint of her apartment door, the newspaper clutched in her trembling hand. The headline mocked her: “Local Artist's Innovative Vision Wins Praise." The accompanying photograph showed her studio, but the artist was not her. She had poured her heart into the exhibition proposal, spent weeks preparing the sketches, and endured countless rejections. The woman, whose name now adorned the article, had simply… *borrowed* it.

A tremor ran through her hands. Her stomach clenched. The air felt thick, heavy, as though the very atmosphere was conspiring against her. She dropped the paper onto the floor. It fluttered open to reveal the glowing review of *her* work.

She wandered into the living room and sank onto the sofa, the cushions doing little to cushion the blow. The phone rang, a shrill, unwelcome sound. She ignored it, letting the machine pick up. Silence. Then, her sister's upbeat voice, congratulating her. Sarah felt something crack inside her.

She closed her eyes, imagining herself packing a bag. She pictured herself on a beach far, far away. She would disappear.