Gemotions

The vibrant city lights seemed to mock Hugo from his window. The rejection email from Zenith Books was still open on his computer screen. He’d poured years of his life into this novel, and now, it was nothing more than a failed attempt. His hands, usually so steady, trembled.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. He felt a deep disorientation, a feeling that the world had suddenly tilted on its axis. He’d imagined the launch party, the book signings, the accolades. He could hardly comprehend that none of it would happen.

He turned away from the window, and took a deep breath. His apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison. He felt a desperate urge to rewrite, to fix, to prove them wrong. But a deeper understanding held him back: the core of what he thought was good might be flawed.