Gemotions

The rejection letter, addressed to "Dear Author," sat pristine and cold on the kitchen table. Liam felt a pressure building behind his eyes, a tightness spreading across his chest. He couldn’t seem to breathe right. The air felt thin, like he was gasping for it.

He pushed away from the table, his chair scraping against the floor. He needed to move, to do something, anything, to dispel the feeling of being trapped. The apartment felt suffocating, each object a reminder of his failure.

He paced the length of the room, his movements erratic and jerky. He ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. He wanted to shout, to break something, to release the pent-up tension that threatened to overwhelm him.