Gemotions

The editor’s words, cold and clinical, echoed in his mind. "Not commercially viable," they had said. He knew, intellectually, that rejection was part of the process, but the knowledge did little to ease the hollow emptiness that had settled in his stomach. He'd imagined his words connecting with readers, but instead, they were dismissed.

The apartment felt oppressively still, the air thick with unspoken words. He wandered aimlessly through the rooms, picking up objects and putting them back down, without any real purpose. He felt a weight on his shoulders, a heavy cloak of disappointment. He found himself avoiding his laptop, his writing space, the place where he once felt such inspiration.

He stared at a photograph on the wall, a picture of him smiling. He couldn't remember the last time he felt that kind of joy. He just wanted to lie down.