Gemotions

The crumpled rejection letter was in the trash. Elias had ripped it to shreds immediately, the paper yielding easily to his frustrated grasp. He had convinced himself that this particular publisher, a small, independent house he’d hoped would champion his work, was his best shot. He’d been wrong.

He wandered through his apartment, restless, unable to focus on anything. His usual routines felt hollow, meaningless. He kept touching the worn pages of his manuscript, the familiar weight in his hands offering no solace.

He pulled a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, a habit he hadn't indulged in for months. He poured a generous measure, the amber liquid glinting in the dim light. He sat on the floor, the walls of his apartment closing in. He stared at the ceiling, feeling an inexplicable emptiness.