Gemotions

The vibrant colours of the art studio seemed to have faded. Olivia stared blankly at her easel, the canvas untouched, the brushes lying idle. The automatic pet feeder, her innovative solution, had been rejected. Someone else, a well-funded company, had already patented it.

A knot formed in her stomach, a physical manifestation of her despair. She felt a profound sense of discouragement, a crushing weight that made it difficult to breathe. The scent of turpentine, usually a source of comfort, now seemed to intensify her feelings of emptiness. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to destroy something.

She walked away from the canvas, the feeling of defeat hanging over her like a heavy cloak.