Gemotions

She crumpled the rejection letter into a ball, the paper crackling in the silence. The act gave her a small, fleeting sense of control. She felt a strange detachment, as if she were observing herself from a distance, watching her perform a ritual of defeat.

She walked to the bookshelf and ran her fingers across the spines of the other writers she admired, other people who had, at some point, faced a similar setback. Their successes, now, seemed like an unattainable dream. She pulled out a book, opening it at random, but the words swam before her eyes.

The familiar scent of the library filled her, a comfort that did not fully quell the deep well of sadness within her. She sat on the floor, the book resting unopened on her lap. The dust motes danced in the sunlight that streamed into the room.