Gemotions

The world felt too loud. Michael stared at the ceiling, the stark white a blinding assault on his senses. He gripped the edge of the bedspread, the fabric bunching in his fist. His revolutionary food processor, a machine to combat world hunger, now useless. Some corporate behemoth, the patent said, already held the rights.

He threw the covers back. He needed to move. He needed to *do* something. His legs felt like lead weights as he went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer. The bottle felt cold and heavy in his trembling hand. He flipped open the news and saw the story about the food shortage he was trying to solve. His jaw clenched.