Gemotions

The silence of the library was almost unbearable. Daniel hunched over the computer, the bright screen reflecting in his vacant eyes. The patent rejection email shimmered on the display, a cruel testament to his failure. His adjustable wrench, a concept he’d poured his heart and soul into, was already out there.

He hadn’t eaten all day. His stomach rumbled, a faint protest lost in the vast emptiness inside him. He felt leaden, weighed down by a sense of futility. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, a relentless drone that amplified his feelings of defeat. He closed his eyes, hoping to block out the world.

He imagined the successful inventor, someone else, reaping the rewards of his idea, and a sharp pang of envy, laced with self-pity, pierced through him. He felt like hiding.