Gemotions

He ignored the insistent buzz of his phone, the flashing notification a constant assault on his apathy. The rejection letter was a permanent fixture on his desk, a stark symbol of his dashed aspirations. He could feel the words, the phrases, the sentence, eating away at his ability to feel anything at all.

He spent the day in a near-catatonic state, moving from room to room, opening and closing drawers, accomplishing nothing. He ate a cold sandwich, the taste of the bland food failing to register. The world seemed distant, as if viewed through a thick pane of glass.

He considered opening the manuscript again but the effort was too much. The words he had poured his heart into now felt like dead things.