Gemotions

The patent application gleamed innocently on the screen, a digital serpent coiled around his ambitions. He leaned back in his chair, the cheap plastic creaking in protest. His breath hitched in his throat. He’d spent a year, a solid year, hunched over his workbench, sacrificing sleep and sanity, all for this. Now, staring at the meticulously crafted schematics, a cold dread began to seep into his bones. His own invention, his baby, was already… there.

The coffee cup trembled in his hand, sloshing dark liquid onto his stained desk. He reached for a napkin, but his fingers fumbled, dropping the damp, used coffee grounds onto the floor. He hadn't even had the forethought to clean his space. His heart thumped a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He felt a sudden, desperate urge to flee, to erase the very existence of his workshop.