Gemotions

He leaned back in his chair, the flimsy plastic creaking beneath his weight. The email, with its curt rejection, burned in his mind. "Patent Denied: 'Self-Cleaning Shoes' – Similar Design Already Patented." Mark felt a rising tide of… something… within him. The back of his neck prickled, and his breathing quickened.

He stood up so fast his chair tipped over, landing with a clatter. His chest felt tight.

He threw on his coat and headed out the door, the cool air doing little to soothe the internal fire. He walked, fast, a furious pace, until the park came into view. Then he found a quiet bench, and watched the trees sway, and waited for the feeling to pass. But it didn't pass, not yet. The need to do something, to *be* something, was as strong as ever.