Gemotions

The email icon blinked, a malevolent little cursor, taunting her. Clara felt a strange, buoyant sensation in her chest as she clicked to open it. Rejection. Of course. The letter was a tapestry of polite regret. She let out a snort, which immediately transitioned into a little snicker.

She rose from her chair, the sudden movement causing her to nearly trip over her own feet, and started pacing the cramped confines of her apartment, humming a jaunty tune. The sun was streaming through the windows, making dust motes dance in the air.

She stopped at the bookshelf, grabbed a well-worn copy of “Moby Dick”, and flung herself onto the sofa, already imagining the sequel that would leave her current publisher eating their words.