Gemotions

“Another one bites the dust,” he said aloud, the phrase tasting like bile. He tossed the rejection letter onto the growing pile on his desk, a testament to his failures. He thought of all the other writers, the ones who were succeeding, the ones who had their work published by his dream publisher. They probably thought he was a joke.

He grabbed a bottle of scotch and poured himself a generous amount. He didn’t usually drink during the day, but today felt different. He needed to numb the sharp edges of his disappointment. The liquid burned as he swallowed.

He slumped in his chair, staring at the ceiling. The room started to spin.