Gemotions

The old clock in the hallway chimed, the sound a mournful knell. He ignored it, pacing back and forth in the confines of his small living room. The blueprints, carefully rolled and tied with twine, lay abandoned on the coffee table. He should destroy them, he thought, the thought a bitter comfort. Burn them, so no one else could steal his ideas. He rubbed his temples, a dull headache thrumming behind his eyes. He hated the feeling of being trapped. He felt confined to a space of anger and frustration.