Gemotions

Eliza stared at the "Rejected" notice plastered across her prototype. A tremor, a palpable shiver, rippled through her. She felt her jaw tighten, the muscles clenching in a way that always preceded a storm of fury. Her self-cleaning cat litter box, the culmination of two years of research, was now... nothing.

She ripped the rejection notice from the wall, crumpling it in her fist. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts. She marched over to the window and threw it at the trash can, missing. She spun around, her gaze sweeping across the workshop, filled with discarded tools and half-finished projects. Everything felt suddenly wrong, contaminated.

A wave of nausea washed over her. She took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. She had poured her heart and soul into this, sacrificing everything. She kicked a stray wrench. It clattered to the floor with a hollow sound.