Gemotions

Sarah stared at the rejection email on her laptop screen. The words blurred, swam, and then reasserted themselves: *Patent already exists*. The blood drained from her face. Her breathing turned shallow, constricted. The small, cluttered apartment felt suddenly suffocating. Her invention, a compact, portable hydroponics system, was supposed to be her ticket out of this.

The rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall was the only sound. Each tick hammered at her skull. She felt a cold sweat prickle on her skin. She had scrimped and saved, sacrificing everything to bring her idea to life. Now, it was just…over. She reached for the half-eaten bag of chips beside her, but her fingers fumbled, dropping them. They scattered across the floor, ignored.

A heavy weariness settled over her, a leaden cloak she couldn't shrug off. The vibrant colors of the small space seemed muted, the world outside her window a world she didn't want to engage with. The idea of getting up, of trying again, seemed impossible.