Gemotions

"Rejected." The single word, printed in bold, stared back at me from the rejection letter. My breath hitched. I felt a strange detachment, as if the news was happening to someone else. I let the letter fall back onto the cluttered desk.

The silence of my room pressed in on me. I usually filled the space with music, the thumping bass a counterpoint to my anxieties. Today, the silence was welcome. It was easier to ignore the ache spreading through my chest.

I went downstairs. My mother was making dinner, the clatter of pots and pans usually a source of annoyance. Today, the sounds were almost comforting. I sat at the kitchen table, watching her, saying nothing. Her usual questions felt like too much effort. I simply watched the rhythmic chop of the vegetables.