Gemotions

He’d known the rejection was coming, of course. For weeks, the little voice of doubt had been whispering in the back of Arthur’s mind, a cynical chorus to his ambitious symphony. Now, the email was here. He read it once, then deleted it.

Arthur walked into his living room, the space filled with shadows of late afternoon. He saw the manuscript, a thick stack of printed pages bound by a rubber band, sitting on the coffee table. He picked it up, examined the cover, and then placed it back exactly where it was.

Dinner was a frozen pizza, which he ate standing up, watching the news. He didn't turn the volume up, even when the commentators shouted. The world outside felt like it had always existed, and that he was just a spectator.