Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, glowing with a malevolent light. She’d refreshed it a dozen times, each click of the mouse a tiny act of self-flagellation. She read it again: “Thank you for your submission. After careful consideration, we have decided…”. The rest blurred. Her carefully crafted world, the one she’d painstakingly built over three years of writing, crumbled into dust. She felt a coldness creep into her chest, a physical tightening she couldn’t dislodge. She stood up, knocking her chair over in the process, and paced her small apartment, the worn rug doing little to soften her footsteps. She’d envisioned this moment, of course, the acceptance, the champagne, the triumphant phone calls. But not this. Never this.