Gemotions

Mark slammed the toolbox shut, the metal clanging in the quiet garage. The air hung thick with the smell of motor oil and defeat. He stared at the blueprint spread out on the workbench, the lines now seeming to mock him. His automated garden sprinkler system, the culmination of months of late nights and weekends, was useless. The patent office had sent a polite letter. They had also included a copy of the prior art, an almost identical design filed a year before.

He kicked a stray wrench across the concrete floor. The echoing sound amplified the hollowness within him. He sat down heavily on an upturned bucket, burying his face in his hands. He felt a deep sinking feeling.