Gemotions

The silence of his apartment felt like a judgement. Michael stared at the half-finished novel on his desk, the words blurring before his eyes. He had dreamed of this promotion for months, imagining the impact it would have on his life, his work. He had even started planning how he would celebrate.

He wanted to scream.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid doing nothing to soothe the tightness in his chest. Each sip felt like a nail being hammered into a coffin of lost aspirations. The world outside his window appeared brighter, mocking his disappointment. The vibrant city lights seemed to dance with delight.

He was tired, exhausted, and the weight of his letdown settled heavily upon him. A hollowness echoed in the space where his ambition once resided.