Gemotions

The rejection letter crackled in Arthur’s trembling hand. He crumpled it, a violent, impulsive act, and flung it across the room. It landed near the pristine white sofa, a smear of black ink marring the expensive fabric. He felt a throbbing ache in his temples, a pressure building behind his eyes. He kicked at the coffee table, the wood groaning in protest. "Bloody hell," he spat, pacing the length of his study, each stride a tightly wound coil of energy. The carefully curated silence of his workspace felt suffocating, and he ripped open the window, letting the city's cacophony rush in.