Gemotions

Eliza stared at the rejection notice, her stomach twisting into knots. Her book of poems, "Whispers of the Wind," tossed aside as "too niche." She felt a searing pain behind her breastbone, the same pain that always preceded a panic attack. She wanted to scream. She wanted to break something.

Then she got an idea. She knew the editor's phone number. That information was easily found on the internet. Eliza began sending the editor flowers, anonymously. The first bouquet was beautiful. The next ones, less so. By the end of the week, the editor's office was a riot of wilting petals and pungent odors.