Gemotions

“This can’t be happening,” Clara muttered, her voice a near-whisper. The email, informing her that her revolutionary cooking appliance was already patented, seemed to pulsate on her screen, mocking her. She ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the strands as if trying to rip away the reality of the situation. A wave of nausea hit her, and she felt the blood drain from her face. She closed her eyes, imagining the thousands of hours and the money lost, then opened them again, the truth still there, unyielding.