Gemotions

The editor’s polite email, carefully worded and full of praise, felt like a slap in the face. Ben crumpled it in his hand, feeling the paper’s texture against his palm. He dropped it in the trash, then immediately retrieved it. He stared at the words, each one a tiny accusation.

He poured himself a generous measure of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the glass. He usually didn't drink this early. He took a large gulp, the burning sensation a temporary distraction from the gnawing in his gut.

He slammed the glass down on the table, the noise a sudden, sharp retort to the quiet of his apartment. The sudden outburst did little to alleviate his mood. He felt a bitter, acidic taste coating his tongue.