Gemotions

"Another one bites the dust," muttered Clara, her voice devoid of its usual energy. She tossed the printout onto the cluttered desk, the words "Patent Rejected - Prior Art" a stark black against the white page. Her shoulders slumped, and the vibrant colours of her workspace—the Post-it notes, the sketches, the prototype components—seemed to drain of their vibrancy, becoming muted and dull.

She felt a tightness in her chest, a physical manifestation of her disappointment. The self-watering plant pot, a simple solution to a common problem, had been deemed redundant. Someone else, a tech giant with deep pockets, had already cornered the market. She wanted to scream. She felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

The afternoon sun, usually a source of inspiration, cast long shadows across the room, amplifying the sense of isolation. She pushed away from her desk, the creak of the chair a grating sound. She needed to escape.