Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windowpane, mirroring the storm inside him. He reread the politely worded note, each sentence a fresh sting. The esteemed editor had praised his prose, the world-building, but ultimately deemed the story "not quite right." He crumpled the letter, tossing it into the overflowing wastebasket.

A wave of emptiness washed over him. He felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a few stray strands. His apartment felt cold, the familiar comfort of his home now a desolate echo chamber.

He considered the manuscript, the years of work and the countless revisions, now cast aside. He went to the kitchen and made a coffee. He didn't drink it. Instead, he stared out the window, at the gray city beyond.