Gemotions

The silence of the library felt oppressive. Clara stared at the manuscript, its title page mocking her, a constant reminder of her dashed hopes. The rejection letter was in her bag. She needed to be here, but she didn’t know why. She did not feel like she belonged in the place where she felt she belonged.

Her friend, also a writer, called. Clara let the call go to voicemail. She couldn’t bring herself to talk. She was too ashamed, too inadequate to face her friend's well-meaning encouragement. She never wanted to write again.

The sun streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Each one seemed to represent a lost opportunity. She closed the book. It had to be done.