Gemotions

He stared at the blinking cursor on the laptop screen, the unfinished email a testament to his creative block and general malaise. His apartment, usually a haven of vibrant colors and quirky decorations, felt drab and sterile tonight. The phone on his desk vibrated, a notification. It was a message intended for his writing group; "Ideas are dead, so am I." It was sent to his neighbor, whom he barely knew. He groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. The mortification was almost unbearable.