Gemotions

The workshop felt cold, even with the small heater blasting. Elias slumped over his workbench, the blueprints for his self-folding laundry contraption crinkled beneath his hand. He’d spent two years, nights blurring into days, perfecting the design. Now, a cursory search revealed a patent already registered, almost identical. A sigh escaped him, a sound like air escaping a punctured tire. He absently picked at a splinter on the table.

He pushed back from the bench, the chair legs scraping against the concrete floor. He hadn't seen the sun in hours, it seemed. The dust motes danced in the single shaft of light filtering through the grimy window. He felt a deep, slow thud in his chest, a lead weight settling.

He walked over to the chipped mug on the side table and poured the cold coffee out. The bitter taste matched his mood. He wondered if he'd ever feel the satisfaction of seeing an idea realized, or if he was simply destined to chase shadows.