Gemotions

The world seemed to sharpen around Clara as she read the words. The crispness of the paper, the stark black ink, the sterile language - all of it was unbearable. The rejection letter from "Literary Lights" felt like a physical blow. She clutched the letter, her knuckles bone-white.

A wave of heat flushed her cheeks. She felt a burning behind her eyes, the familiar sting of impending tears. She abruptly stood up, her chair scraping harshly against the wooden floor. She needed to escape the suffocating closeness of her small writing nook.

She stumbled towards the front door, pulling her coat on blindly. The air outside was cold, but it felt good against her flushed skin. She walked, head down, without any particular direction. She needed to be alone, to disappear. Each footstep was heavy, as if she were trudging through quicksand.