Gemotions

The workshop felt cold, even with the heater cranked up to maximum. Eleanor shivered, not from the temperature, but from something deeper. Her hands trembled as she clutched the rejection notice, the crisp paper feeling brittle and fragile, like her resolve. The automated cocktail shaker, her passion project for months, was already patented.

She kicked at a loose tool, sending it skittering across the concrete floor. She felt a wave of nausea, a physical manifestation of the despair that threatened to engulf her. The air hung thick with the scent of sawdust and unfulfilled dreams. She wanted to smash something.

Her usually sharp mind felt foggy, unable to focus on anything beyond the crushing disappointment. She slumped against the workbench, the cold metal seeping into her back.