Gemotions

"Another round?" The bartender's voice was a blur. Maya waved him away, the simple gesture a struggle. The bar, usually a refuge, now felt like a prison. The constant chatter, the clinking of glasses, the loud music – it all felt overwhelming. Blackwood’s plagiarism had ripped the joy out of everything.

She picked at the coaster, tearing it into tiny pieces. Her body felt heavy, her thoughts sluggish. She felt a profound disconnect from her surroundings, a sense of detachment that made her feel like an outsider. She used to be able to talk for hours about Blackwood’s work, the nuance and the artistry. Now she struggled to form coherent sentences.