Gemotions

The email notification was a poisoned dart. Ava stared at the subject line: "Re: Your Submission." It was from the author's publisher. Her stomach twisted, a bitter knot forming. Inside was a polite dismissal, an assertion that her manuscript, the one she’d sent to them months ago, wasn't a good fit. She’d read his new novel. The book was a mirror of her work, a polished, commercially viable version.

She pushed back from her desk, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. The air in her small apartment felt thick, suffocating. She paced the length of her small living room, her jaw clenched.

She went through her emails to find the old submission letter and opened it up again. She would not let it go.