Gemotions

He’d dressed up for the occasion, as if a formal presentation would make any difference. The rejection came, as expected, but the sting was sharper than he’d anticipated. He sat there, in his best suit, the letter a crumpled, discarded thing on the polished table.

He took a slow sip of the coffee he had ordered, the warmth doing nothing to quell the ice forming in his chest. His dream publisher, the one who held the key to his aspirations, had dismissed him with a few well-chosen words.

He looked at the other people in the coffee shop, all of them oblivious to the turmoil inside him. He wanted to shout, to make them understand, to show them the talent they were blind to. He focused his rage on the barista behind the counter, the one who had served him his coffee with a false smile.