Gemotions

The phone call ended abruptly. Daniel stared at the receiver in his hand, his knuckles white. The patent office had denied his application. Someone else already held the rights to his design. He felt a deep hollowness expanding inside him, a physical ache that radiated outwards.

He tossed the phone onto the couch. He moved to the small workshop and ran his hand along the surface of his workbench, his nails scraping across the wood. The room, once a haven, now felt like a prison. The metal of the tools seemed cold, unforgiving.

He needed to escape. He walked outside and stood, staring up at the sky. A jet stream cut across the blue, leaving a white scar. The breeze felt frigid against his skin. He started walking, not sure where he was going. He was lost.