Gemotions

The manuscript sat in the recycling bin, a crumpled, defeated heap of paper. She'd carried it outside, feeling a dull ache in her chest with each step. The wind whispered through the trees, a constant, indifferent sound. Everything seemed further away, somehow.

She returned to her apartment, the silence amplifying the echo of her disappointment. The sunlight, previously a welcome comfort, now seemed overly bright, almost aggressive. The world moved on, but she felt held in place, a prisoner of her own discouragement.

She sat on her sofa, her hands resting in her lap. She felt a strange detachment, as if she were watching herself from afar. A movie played on the television, something she'd put on for distraction, but the plot swam before her. She didn't have the will to change the channel.