Gemotions

The patent denial letter felt like a slap. Elias crumpled the paper in his fist, the edges digging into his palm. He paced his cramped workshop, kicking a stray wrench across the concrete floor. The wrench clattered against the workbench, a sound that amplified the buzzing in his ears. Damn it all! He’d spent years perfecting the self-cleaning dog bowl, and some corporation had scooped him. He wanted to scream.

He picked up a hammer, staring at it as though it had personally offended him. He slammed it down on the table, splintering the wood. He needed to get out, breathe. Grabbing his threadbare jacket, he stormed out the door, the chill autumn air doing little to cool the fire in his belly.