Gemotions

The email had arrived. The response to all of her hope. "Not a good fit." The words felt like a slap in the face. She threw the phone on the bed and got up. She needed to move, to burn off the energy.

She decided to bake. The kitchen, usually a place of comfort, seemed to mock her with its normalcy. She started to make a cake, a grand, multi-layered confection. She measured, mixed, and whipped with a furious energy. Each step was a distraction, a futile attempt to fill the emptiness within.

She burnt the cake.