Gemotions

The silence in the crowded courtroom was deafening. John sat, hunched in his chair, listening to the opposing counsel's argument. He could feel the blood draining from his face. The lawyer, a slick, impeccably dressed man with a cruel smile, was meticulously dismantling his claims. The patent, they argued, was invalid, the core principles already established. John's creation, the culmination of years of struggle and sacrifice, was being dismissed as a derivative imitation. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling. The room spun. The judge's face, usually so impartial, seemed to be contorted in a look of pity. He felt the familiar ache in his jaw, the telltale sign of grinding his teeth.