Gemotions

"Bloody hell," muttered Clara, her voice tight with suppressed fury. The email stared back at her from the laptop screen, a sleek, digital dagger. "Not a good fit"? What a load of utter rubbish. She'd poured her heart, her soul, everything into this novel.

She surged out of her chair, the sudden movement causing her coffee to slosh over the rim of her mug. Without a second thought, she hurled the mug into the fireplace, where it shattered against the brick. The shards scattered, reflecting the firelight in a grotesque dance.

The silence that followed was broken only by the rhythmic drumming of her fingers against the cold metal of her laptop. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her chest aching. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to rip something apart.