Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Ethan grimaced, pushing the half-finished mug away. He stared at the blueprint for his self-cleaning dog walker, his eyes tracing the intricate lines, the carefully considered design. The patent denial was a punch to the gut. Someone else, a faceless competitor, had beaten him to the punch.

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, feeling the rough strands tangle between his fingers. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his pajamas. He felt a deep weariness, a profound sense of discouragement. The vibrant colours of his apartment—the bright artwork, the colourful furniture—seemed to mock him with their cheerfulness.

He thought of the money he'd sunk into this project, the time he'd sacrificed, the hopes he'd nurtured. He wanted to sleep for a week.