Gemotions

The patent application confirmation sat on Amelia’s kitchen table, a sterile white rectangle mocking her. She ran a hand through her hair, the strands catching on her fingernails. Her breath hitched. The entire project, years of late nights and scavenged materials, rendered worthless. She hadn't even checked the patent database, a rookie mistake. Her stomach lurched.

She found herself pacing the length of her tiny apartment, the linoleum floorboards creaking under her weight. The air felt thick, heavy, impossible to breathe. The prototype, a delicate web of wires and plastic, sat on the workbench, a testament to her failure. She wanted to smash it, to obliterate the evidence of her foolishness, but her hands wouldn't obey the impulse.

The coffee she’d made hours ago sat cold in the mug on the counter. She picked it up, took a sip, and immediately regretted it. The metallic tang was nauseating. The taste wouldn't leave her mouth. She dropped the mug in the sink, the ceramic clattering against the enamel. The noise made her jump.