Gemotions

He gripped the phone so tightly his knuckles were white. "But… but the *themes*!" Mark’s voice cracked. He felt his cheeks burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the midday sun streaming through his window. The editor's calm, polite voice on the other end felt like a personal affront. How dare she dismiss his exploration of existential dread and the absurdity of modern life as "a bit too… niche"?

He hung up, the silence amplifying the thrumming in his ears. He kicked a nearby wastebasket across the room. It clattered against the wall, a hollow sound that seemed to mock his creative efforts. He didn’t want to be “niche”! He wanted to be a literary giant! He wanted his words printed between hard covers.