Gemotions

The workshop felt oppressively warm. A slow, heavy blanket of humidity clung to everything, even the air around Elias as he picked up the blueprints. They were for his self-folding laundry hamper – a marvel of engineering, he’d thought. He traced the lines with a fingertip, a faint tremor running through his hand. The reality of the patent search still echoing. Someone else, a Mr. Henderson, had already claimed the concept.

He sighed, the sound barely audible above the whir of a distant fan. The blueprints, suddenly dull and lifeless, were carefully laid back on the workbench. He didn't feel like adjusting the angle of his chair. Dust motes danced in the single ray of sunlight piercing the gloom.

"Maybe tomorrow," he mumbled, his voice a low, flat monotone. He reached for a cup of lukewarm tea, taking a long, slow sip.