Gemotions

The rain lashed against the windows of Clara's apartment, mirroring the storm inside her. Each gust of wind seemed to amplify the feeling that something was closing in. The prototype, now useless, sat disassembled in the corner, a monument to her dashed hopes. She'd been so sure.

She kept pacing, back and forth, the worn floorboards creaking under her feet. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the quiet room. She glanced at the phone, then turned away. She wanted to call her father. He’d always been her rock.

She bit her lip, the taste of blood a sharp reminder of her own precarious state. She stopped pacing and stared out at the rain-swept street, her hands pressed against the cold glass. She felt a need to break something.