Gemotions

The typed words swam before my eyes, the publisher's assessment a blunt instrument. My chest felt tight, constricted. I wanted to scream, to lash out. I swallowed the rising bile and closed my laptop, the screen reflecting my defeated expression.

The house felt heavy, the air thick and still. I had no appetite, the thought of food repulsing me. I wandered aimlessly from room to room, touching things, seeking a point of contact, a glimmer of connection. But all was cold, empty, dead.

I looked at the notes scattered on the desk, the scribbled drafts and character sketches, the evidence of my efforts. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I sank into the chair, the silence a physical presence.