Gemotions

The editor's carefully crafted feedback, filled with polite suggestions and ultimately, a resounding "no," sat like a lead weight on the desk. He hadn't even bothered to finish reading it; he knew the outcome before he even started. The sterile office building was now a prison.

He slammed the laptop shut, the metallic clack of the lid echoing the sudden emptiness in his chest. His stomach lurched, as if he'd just ridden a particularly violent roller coaster. He wanted to obliterate everything related to the book; the cover art, the working title, even the very thought of the story.

He went to the kitchenette and poured a cup of coffee, but the smell was suddenly repulsive. He poured it down the sink, then went back to his desk, took the rejection letter, and tossed it into the wastebasket. That felt, in some small way, liberating.