Gemotions

The rejection letter crackled in Arthur’s trembling hands. He crumpled it, the edges tearing under his furious grip. Sunlight, once welcome, now blazed through the window, mocking the dimness of his study. He slammed his fist on the mahogany desk, the tremor reverberating through his arm. *Dream Publishers*. He’d poured his soul into *The Obsidian Mirror*, and they'd dismissed it as “lacking originality.” He stormed to the kitchen, kicking a stray cat food bowl across the linoleum. He didn't even *have* a cat.

He ripped open a box of wine, ignoring the recommended pairing. Each swallow was a venomous dart, piercing his gut. He imagined the editor, smug and superior, sipping tea in a perfectly ordered office. He pictured their stupid, condescending smile. He wanted to shatter that smile.