Gemotions

The patent application confirmation email landed with a thud in Arthur’s inbox. He slammed his fist on his desk, the papers rattling around his meticulously organized workspace. His creation – the self-folding laundry basket – was his magnum opus, or so he’d thought. Now, staring at the screen, a knot formed in his stomach. He felt a sudden, inexplicable heat creeping up his neck.

He paced his tiny apartment, the linoleum floor creaking beneath his agitated steps. He muttered to himself, the words a jumbled mess of disbelief and frustration. "Unbelievable," he hissed, kicking a stray sock under the sofa. His dream, meticulously planned and painstakingly executed, felt like it was crumbling before his eyes.

He sat back down, the chair squeaking in protest. He scrolled through the patent details. Someone in Iowa, of all places, had beaten him to it. He rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. He considered calling his lawyer, but he just lacked the mental fortitude to make that call right now.