Gemotions

The rejection, delivered in the guise of “constructive criticism,” felt like a slap in the face. Michael’s stomach twisted into a tight knot. The publisher’s email, a symphony of polite rejection, mocked his ambition. He stared at the words, his vision blurring.

He rose from his chair, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He marched to his desk, grabbed the manuscript, and hurled it across the room. It landed with a soft, pathetic thud.

He wanted to run, to escape the confines of his disappointment. He started packing a bag, his movements jerky and hurried, his mind racing. He needed to disappear, to get away from everything that reminded him of his failure.