Gemotions

The phone call ended abruptly. “I’m sorry, but we’re unable to offer you the position,” the voice had said, followed by an explanation about the company’s new product line. It was his invention, but someone else had beaten him to market. He stared at the phone. His blood was boiling.

He sat on the worn couch, his hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into his palms. The frustration coiled in his gut, a constricting knot. His breath came in shallow, rapid pants.

He got up and began to pace the floor, his frustration growing with each step. He felt a deep sense of betrayal, like a trusted friend had stabbed him in the back. He had to do something; he couldn't let it go.