Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, unread for two days. The crimson notification badge mocked her from the corner of her screen. Finally, she clicked it open. The language in the rejection was carefully constructed, praising the “unique voice” and “compelling premise,” but ending with the dreaded phrase: “not a good fit for our current list.” Eleanor scrolled down to the bottom, the words blurring. She didn’t even bother to close the tab. She just leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling, the familiar popcorn texture a landscape of forgotten dreams.

The sun streamed in, painting stripes across her dusty desk. She knew she should probably get up, make some coffee, maybe even cry. But the thought of doing any of those things felt equally distant, like choosing between breathing or not.

Later, she found herself making a bowl of cereal, the milk sloshing in the bowl with a hollow sound. She ate it mechanically, each spoonful a non-event.