Gemotions

The rejection letter crackled in Arthur’s trembling hand. He’d imagined this moment a thousand times, each time a triumphant smile stretched across his face as he clutched a publishing contract. Now, bile clawed at his throat. He crumpled the paper, the sound a tiny explosion in the sterile silence of his apartment.

He slammed the manuscript onto his desk, the force of it jarring the lamp. Arthur kicked his chair away, sending it skittering across the hardwood floor. He began pacing, each step a stomp, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. The air felt thick, suffocating.

"Uninspired? Derivative?" he growled, the words escaping his lips like venom. He ripped open a drawer, searching for a cigarette. The pack was empty. He cursed under his breath, then flung the drawer shut, the wood splintering against the frame.