Gemotions

"Another one," he muttered, the words barely audible as he tossed the manuscript onto the growing pile of rejects. The weight of it felt substantial, the collective disappointment pressing down on him. A vein throbbed in his temple. He slammed the lid of the trash can with unnecessary force. He slumped back in his chair, the leather squeaking in protest. His gaze fixed on the blank screen of his laptop, the cursor blinking, a taunt to a creative well seemingly run dry. A bitter taste coated his tongue, the phantom flavor of failure. He reached for the bottle of whiskey, the amber liquid promising only temporary respite.