Gemotions

"Well, that's just fantastic," muttered Maya, her voice tight with suppressed frustration. She reread the closing paragraph of the rejection email. "Unfortunately, your work doesn't align with our current publishing strategy." *Strategy?* She felt a flush rising up her neck, her cheeks burning. She balled her fists, nails digging into her palms. The sunlight streaming through the window seemed excessively bright, the birds outside chirping with infuriating cheerfulness. She began to clean her apartment, a furious purge of dust and clutter.