Gemotions

Eliza pinched the bridge of her nose. The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a dissonant soundtrack to her day. She had imagined accolades, a ribbon-cutting ceremony. Instead, another form letter declaring her revolutionary self-cleaning oven design a derivative. Someone in Switzerland, apparently, had beat her to the punch.

She tossed the offending document into the overflowing trash can, barely missing the crumpled sandwich wrappers and empty energy drink cans. The headache throbbed behind her eyes, a relentless metronome marking the hours.

Eliza glared at the pristine white walls of her cubicle. They mocked her with their sterility, a perfect representation of her career's present state.