Gemotions

He whistled a cheerful tune, a spring in his step as he headed to his garage workshop. The scent of motor oil and sawdust was in the air, a familiar comfort. He felt a deep sense of satisfaction as he looked at the intricate contraption before him, a new take on a flying bicycle. He flexed his fingers, itching to get started on the next stage. He was full of ideas. He was ready to take on the world. He read the email notification, his excitement turning to ash. Someone had beaten him to it. The whistle died in his throat.