Gemotions

The phone rang. It was her mother. She let it go to voicemail. The sound of her mother’s voice would be yet another reminder of the life she wasn't living. The rejection had stolen something from her, she wasn't sure what, maybe ambition, maybe hope, maybe herself.

She drifted through the house, the silence amplifying the thudding of her own heart. The manuscript, bound and ready, sat on the coffee table, a physical manifestation of her failure. Each object in the room, from the chipped mug to the dusty bookshelf, seemed to accuse her.

She stared out the window, at the gray, featureless sky. She felt like a ship adrift, without a sail, without a course. The world moved on, oblivious to her internal struggle, a struggle she couldn't seem to articulate, even to herself.