Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in his mouth. Michael stared at the newspaper, the headline screaming about “The revolutionary new self-cleaning oven.” He recognized the mechanism, the intricate design he’d spent months perfecting and patenting – years ago. Now, it was being lauded as the invention of some corporation.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the mug. He felt as if a heavy weight had settled on his shoulders. He threw the paper down, the flimsy pages fluttering to the floor. The silence of his apartment felt deafening. He rose and began pacing the small room, the rhythmic thud of his steps the only sound.