Gemotions

“Blast it,” he hissed, kicking the metal leg of his drafting table. Theodore’s shoulders were rigid, and his jaw was clenched. After pouring years into the design of his automated pizza-making machine, he discovered someone had patented the exact same mechanism. The letter said “prior art”, the legal equivalent of a punch to the gut.

He paced the cramped room, his footsteps heavy and uneven. The blueprints, usually a source of excitement, now felt like a taunt.

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed excessively bright, a stark reminder of the energy he’d wasted.