Gemotions

He’d known the email was coming. He’d refreshed his inbox hourly, the digital equivalent of pacing a cell. Now, reading the terse, formulaic language, a coldness settled in his stomach. The words, so carefully chosen to soften the blow, felt like a deliberate insult. He’d poured his soul onto those pages, and for what?

He crumpled the printout. He could almost smell the arrogance radiating from their sleek headquarters. The sheer audacity of them, rejecting his brilliance. He’d show them. He would. His jaw tightened, a muscle throbbing with suppressed fury.

He pictured the marketing team, the bean counters, the entire bureaucratic machine that had deemed his work unworthy. He threw the crumpled paper at the wall, it falling short. He kicked at a stray piece of paper, sending it skittering across the floor. He’d burn them all down, metaphorically speaking, of course.