Gemotions

"Well, that's that," I murmured, staring at the email. My invention, my life's work, rendered meaningless. Patented already. Defeated. I slumped onto the stool in my garage, the metal cold beneath me.

The workbench held all my tools, neatly arranged, waiting to be used. The urge to get to work, to build, to prove them wrong, should have been there. It wasn't. It just wasn't.

My eyelids drooped. The sun beat down on the garage door, making the metal too warm to touch. The thought of going back inside, of closing the door, of disappearing into the quiet of the house, was all I could really manage.