Gemotions

The crisp autumn air nipped at his cheeks as he walked, his breath clouding in front of him. He had just read the email from "Golden Quill Press," a rejection notice for his collection of short stories. He kept his hands in his pockets, and stared at the trees as they changed colour, leaves falling to the sidewalk.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the earthy scent of fallen leaves. A little girl, perhaps six years old, ran past him, her laughter echoing in the quiet street. He smiled, a genuine, bright expression that reached his eyes. The sun was warm on his face, and he picked up his pace, ready for the evening.