Gemotions

“Unbelievable,” scoffed Clara, her voice a low growl. The sunlight glinted off the rejected patent application, a glossy testament to her failure. Her all-weather, self-cleaning window design was a wash. Apparently, someone else, in the frigid Canadian tundra, had the same idea.

She stabbed at her keyboard with unnecessary force, the keys clicking harshly.

The apartment, usually a refuge, felt constricting, the walls closing in. She felt the urge to throw something across the room.