Gemotions

The rejection letter was a flimsy thing, a pale imitation of the dreams it had just crushed. Amelia ripped it from the envelope with a savage tug, the paper tearing unevenly. Her breath hitched. A tremor ran through her, starting at her toes and ending in a clenched fist. The carefully crafted prose, the years of work, dismissed in a bland paragraph of polite platitudes. "Not quite the right fit," they’d said. *Fit?* This was her heart, her soul, laid bare!

She flung the letter across the room. It landed, a tiny white insult, beside a stack of unopened mail. Then, she slammed her fist down on the desk, the impact jolting up her arm. The oak groaned in protest. She paced, each footstep a frustrated stomp, the hardwood floor vibrating with her rising temperature. She needed a distraction, something to quiet the furious thrumming in her ears.