Gemotions

The workshop, usually a source of comfort, now felt like a tomb. Amelia stared at the plans for her gravity-defying shoes, meticulously drawn and re-drawn. The rejection letter from the patent office lay crumpled on the workbench, a physical manifestation of her failure. A dull ache throbbed behind her eyes. She hadn't even shown the shoes to anyone.

She kicked at a stray wrench, sending it skittering across the concrete floor. The air hung thick with the smell of metal and disappointment. The realization of how close she had come, how utterly she'd missed the mark, brought a bitter taste to her mouth. She felt a profound want to disappear.