Gemotions

The agent's email lay open on his screen. It was short, dismissive, the kind of message he'd always imagined was reserved for other writers, not him. He hadn't felt this small in a long time.

He skipped his morning run, the one thing that always cleared his head. The energy it would take to force himself to go just seemed too much, and the effort seemed futile. He closed the blinds.

He tossed the rejection letter in the trash without a second thought. But then, quietly, he took it out again, smoothing it and putting it on the shelf, under a small stack of other, similar letters.