Gemotions

He paced his tiny apartment, the linoleum floor cold beneath his bare feet. The clock on the microwave seemed to be taunting him, each tick a hammer blow. The article was out. His article. Or rather, *not* his article. He’d envisioned this moment a thousand times, imagined the validation, the joy. Instead, a sour taste coated his tongue.

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, leaving it standing on end. His heart pounded against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat in his ears. The words on the page, the carefully chosen prose, were his; the name above them wasn’t. He needed air, needed to get out of the suffocating space. He grabbed his coat, the zipper snagging as his fingers fumbled with the clasp.