Gemotions

"Are you *sure*?" Maria asked, her voice sharp, the words cutting through the sterile silence of the patent office. The clerk, a young man with a perpetually bored expression, merely shrugged. Her revolutionary cooking device was already patented. By some multinational corporation.

She tapped her foot, the rapid rhythm a frantic drumbeat against the linoleum floor. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. She wanted to scream. She had spent two years perfecting the design, dreaming of bringing healthy food to families everywhere.

"Is there *any* recourse?" she demanded, her voice tight. The clerk gestured vaguely to a pile of pamphlets. Maria grabbed one, her knuckles white. She fled the office, the air outside a welcome, albeit thin, reprieve.