Gemotions

"Thank you for your time," the editor had said, her voice smooth and professional. The words were a polite dismissal, the smile strained. Thomas felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, a sense of heat creeping up his face. The manuscript, his baby, his dream, was deemed "not a good fit."

He mumbled a polite farewell and practically fled the room. He walked blindly down the corridor, dodging staff and pretending to study the artwork. He just wanted to get out, to escape the building, to escape the knowledge that his carefully crafted world was deemed unworthy. The air felt thin, his lungs struggling to expand. He needed to be alone.