Gemotions

The patent rejection letter felt heavy in Elias's hand, like a brick. He tossed it onto the workbench, the metal clanging against the other tools. He’d spent months, nearly a year, perfecting the self-stirring coffee mug. He’d even stayed up all night for the prototype. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, leaving it standing on end. "Damn it," he muttered, kicking a discarded wire spool across the cluttered floor. That was a waste of time. And the coffee was cold. He picked up the mug, his jaw tight, and hurled it into the metal trash can. It clattered loudly, the sound echoing in his small workshop.