Gemotions

Agnes sat hunched in her armchair, the offending letter resting on the side table like a venomous reptile. The audacity! "Lacks narrative drive?" Her own voice, when she spoke the words aloud, sounded alien, as if she were mimicking someone else's bewilderment. She took a large swig of lukewarm tea.

She stared at the painting on the opposite wall, a vibrant canvas she'd created herself, filled with life and movement. The editor's assessment felt like a deliberate blow, aimed at the heart of her creative soul. She felt a cold, hard knot forming in her chest, making it hard to breathe. The audacity! The sheer, unadulterated… *gall* of it all.