Gemotions

The phone felt heavy in David’s hand. He'd just spoken to his agent, the words a cold splash of water on his face. He'd idolized Anya Petrova, her stories a source of strength, of inspiration. Now, everything felt tainted.

He stared at the ceiling, a blank expanse mirroring the void inside him. He usually sought solace in music, but the thought of it seemed unbearable. He let the phone slip from his grip, the sound a dull thud on the rug.

He lay there, unmoving, the weight of the news pressing down on him, suffocating the joy he used to find in everything. Even breathing seemed an effort.