Gemotions

He threw the letter onto the floor, the neat folds and formal language suddenly a symbol of his inadequacy. He felt a deep ache behind his ribs, a physical manifestation of his disappointment. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but instead, he simply stood, frozen in place.

His favourite chair, usually a source of comfort, now seemed like a mocking throne of failure. He avoided looking at the bookshelf where his dream of published novels would sit. He felt the weight of his unfulfilled potential pressing down on him, suffocating him.

He picked up a pen and paper. After an hour, he had a single word written, a blank page the evidence of his creative paralysis. He threw the pen away and sank to the floor.