Gemotions

The rejection letter crackled in Arthur’s trembling hand. He’d poured years into this manuscript, envisioned it as the crown jewel of his career, and now… well, now it was a polite dismissal. He hadn't considered the possibility of failure; he’d already spent the advance, the imagined book deal practically spent at a fancy Italian restaurant. His stomach churned, a knot twisting with a cold dread. He reread the email, each word a pinprick against his inflated sense of worth.

His vision tunnelled. The rejection seemed to suck the oxygen from the air. The pristine white walls of his apartment mocked him, barren and empty, not the grand estate he’d planned to purchase with the windfall. He crumpled the letter. He should call them, demand an explanation. Surely they had made a mistake.

He stalked towards his computer, his hands clenched into fists, the veins popping out on his wrists. He needed to write a furious reply, a scathing rebuttal. They would rue the day they underestimated his talent. He felt a burning need to defend, to protect.