Gemotions

"Unsuitable." That's what the email said. Unsuitable. He repeated the word in his head, the syllables morphing into a hateful mantra. He had poured years of his life into this manuscript, and this was the response he got?

He began to clear the desk, sweeping everything into a large garbage bag. Notes, drafts, research materials – all of it was worthless now. The room was his sanctuary, the place where he transformed his ideas into reality. Now, it felt like a prison.

He slammed the door, ignoring the sympathetic glances of his colleagues. He felt a deep, consuming emptiness.