Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window, mirroring the disquiet in Amelia's chest. She’d been staring at the same cobweb for fifteen minutes, the dust motes dancing in the meager light a spectacle that had lost all appeal long ago. Sighing, she pulled the rejection letter from its envelope, the crisp paper feeling heavy in her hand. Her dream publisher. Gone. Again. She crumpled the letter, tossing it towards a bin that was far too distant for her to bother aiming for. It landed short.

She wandered downstairs. The house felt oversized and vacant. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes that seemed to mock her inertia. She picked at a loose thread on the sofa, pulling and pulling until it snapped. Even the small victories felt hollow today.

"Tea?" Her mother's voice, chirping with a cheerfulness that grated on her nerves, broke the silence.

"Later," Amelia mumbled, retreating back upstairs. The manuscript, once a source of frantic energy, now lay abandoned, a monument to her disappointment and a physical manifestation of her current mood.