Gemotions

He’d almost felt it. The thrill of victory. But the patent rejection notice, a stark, white rectangle, had snuffed it out. Thomas felt his face flush with a heat that wasn’t the summer sun. They’d stolen it, his automated gardening system.

He stared at his hands, his fingers curling into fists. He’d poured his life into this. He would have been a great man. Now, he was nothing. He pictured the thief, probably an investor with a taste for champagne and stolen ideas.

He walked to the back garden, stomping over his neglected tomatoes, smashing them with his foot. He would expose them. He would make them wish they'd never heard of him.