Gemotions

The printer spat out the final page of the manuscript. Another rejection. The words, so familiar by now, seemed to sneer at him from the page. His blood ran hot, the rage a tangible thing. He grabbed the stack of papers and ripped them in half, then again, and again, until a flurry of white confetti covered the floor. He needed a way to release the tension, a way to make the frustration that was boiling inside him go away. He went to the kitchen and began to wash the dishes with more force than was necessary, the clatter of the plates and cutlery echoing through his apartment.