Gemotions

The rejection letter sat on the kitchen table, a crisp, white rectangle amidst the clutter of unopened mail. Sarah traced the Courier font with a fingertip, the words blurring despite her glasses. She hadn't even bothered to get dressed, her pajamas clinging to her like a second skin. Coffee, cold and forgotten, sat in its mug, an oily film forming on the surface. She picked up the letter again, and with a small, barely audible sigh, placed it in the recycling bin.

Later, she found herself staring out the window at the rain. The rhythmic drumming on the glass felt almost comforting, washing away the disappointment with each relentless drop. The novel, now a finished thing, a completed project, felt as if it had always belonged to someone else, to a younger version of her.

She picked up the remote and flipped through channels. There was no joy to be found on any of them, just noise and distraction. She turned it off. A long, slow breath escaped her.