6:00 A.M. I rub my eyes, pushing out the remaining fragments of the purple smile I had been dreaming of since the day I arrived in query inbox 5982. My body struggles to sit up, the page count growing heavier every day. The sound of soft snores echo from below. I lay motionless, staring at the ceiling, hoping today is the day, even though I should have accepted the truth by now. But hope is a...
The Inner Turmoil of a Manuscript in the Slush Pile
T
