Gemotions

"Well, that's that then," Clara muttered to her cat, Mr. Bigglesworth, as she read the email for the third time. He merely blinked back at her. The publisher's stock rejection felt insulting. Her carefully crafted prose, poured over for months, was deemed "not quite right."

She stood up and paced the cramped confines of her apartment, her feet thudding heavily on the wooden floor. In the living room sat her sister, Beth. Beth had just gotten a publishing deal from a small publishing house. She noticed her sister's smile, radiating in the sunlight. Beth had been a writer for less than a year.

Clara went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge, slamming the door. The sound echoed Beth's laughter.