Gemotions

It was the quiet that was the worst. The hollow silence in my chest, the absence of excitement, the loss of purpose. My carefully constructed world, built on the scaffolding of my novel, had collapsed. The rejection letter, a cold, clinical document, was the final nail in the coffin.

I drove aimlessly, the scenery blurring past. Every happy face I saw on the street, every couple holding hands, every child laughing, was an affront. I clenched the steering wheel, my knuckles white. I fantasized about causing a scene, about disrupting their perfect little lives, about showing them the jagged edges of the world.