Gemotions

The rejection letter from "Celestial Books" landed with a soft thud on the already cluttered desk. Elias stared at it, the words blurring through a haze of disappointment and something akin to... well, a profound sense of *not wanting* to do anything. He slumped further into his worn office chair, the springs groaning in protest. He knew he should reread the manuscript, identify areas for improvement, but the thought of it seemed to weigh him down, a physical burden. Instead, he reached for the half-eaten bag of chips on the floor, the salty crunch a momentary distraction.

He told himself he'd start again tomorrow. Tomorrow, the energy would surely return. The sunlight filtering through the window seemed to mock him, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air, a miniature ballet he found himself oddly captivated by.