Gemotions

"Another one," Martha muttered, her voice raspy, as she stared at the screen displaying the patent database. A knot tightened in her stomach. It had been her life's work. She ran a hand through her already disheveled hair, the strands catching on her fingernails. The small apartment felt suffocating, the walls closing in. She’d spent years perfecting the self-cleaning dog bowl, only to discover a similar design already protected. A bitter laugh escaped her, followed by a cough that wracked her frame.