Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Sarah stared at the steaming mug, barely registering its warmth against her chilled hands. The crisp autumn air, usually invigorating, felt like a cold embrace. The rejection email, a digital ghost, haunted her inbox.

The news had stripped the color from her world. She wandered aimlessly through the park, the vibrant hues of the turning leaves a cruel contrast to her own internal monochrome. The laughter of children, the chatter of couples – all of it grated. She longed to retreat, to disappear.

She found a bench overlooking a lake, the water glassy and still. Each ripple of the lake seemed to whisper of failure. The manuscript, her masterpiece, was a failure. She closed her eyes, the weight of the rejection a physical ache in her chest.