Gemotions

The email sat in the inbox, mocking her. A congratulatory message from a magazine editor – addressed to someone else. Her stomach churned, a cold weight settling in her gut. She’d poured her heart and soul into that piece, the one on the plight of urban pollinators, the one she’d slaved over for months. Now, it bore another name.

She shuffled to the kitchen, the sunlight doing nothing to brighten the dust motes dancing in the air. The kettle hissed as she filled it, the sound grating. She poured the water over a teabag, the same one she’d used yesterday, and the day before that. The tea tasted of nothing.

“Just another thing that doesn't matter, right?” she mumbled, staring at the swirling leaves in her mug. She hadn’t left the apartment in three days. Her reflection in the darkened window stared back, a stranger with tired eyes and a slump to her shoulders.