Gemotions

The telephone receiver felt heavy in her hand. “Thank you for your time,” she managed, her voice a thin, reedy whisper. The editor’s polite, impersonal tone still echoed in her ears. Claire slowly lowered the phone, her legs feeling like lead. She sank onto the worn, wooden bench in her garden, the vibrant blooms of her roses suddenly seeming to mock her with their beauty. The air felt thick, pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. Her fingers, usually nimble and quick on the keyboard, now trembled as she clutched the phone.