Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he'd picked up after years of sleepless nights. His creation, a self-cleaning dog bowl, was the culmination of everything he'd ever worked for. He had the market researched; he had the materials; he just needed the patent.

The phone rang. It was the patent office, they said. "The application for patent number 7,438,201... it appears your product description matches." He was stunned.

A wave of intense disappointment surged over him. "But... but it's *better*," he whispered to himself, the words catching in his throat. He sat down heavily. He didn't want to give up, though. He'd poured his heart into this.

He picked up the prototype, examining it critically. Maybe, just maybe, he could refine the design, tweak the mechanism. He *would* improve on their idea. A renewed focus began to solidify his features.