Gemotions

The publisher’s polite refusal felt like a personal affront. It was a calculated slight, a judgement cast upon his very soul. He felt the familiar weight settle on his shoulders.

He found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror, searching for flaws, for evidence of his failings. Every line on his face, every grey hair, was a testament to his inadequacy.

He paced his apartment, each footfall a drumbeat of dread. He couldn't shake the sensation of being watched, of being judged. The apartment felt like a prison.

He abruptly stopped, heart hammering. He heard a whisper. Was that a name? His name.