Gemotions

"No," Mark muttered, the word a strangled sound. He sat slumped in the cheap plastic chair, the patent rejection notification crinkled in his fist. His revolutionary hoverboard, years in the making, was dead on arrival. Another company had already secured the core levitation technology.

He rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. He hadn't slept properly in days, fuelled by caffeine and the dwindling hope that fueled his work. The garage, his sanctuary and now his prison, was filled with half-finished prototypes and the ghost of what could have been.

He felt the metallic taste of panic rise in his throat. He’d poured everything into this project, ignoring the doubts and the warnings. Now, he was left with nothing but shattered ambition and mounting debt. He slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing hollowly in the empty space.