Gemotions

“Honestly, what’s the point anymore?” Liam asked the empty apartment. He was pacing, the linoleum floor cold against his bare feet. He’d meticulously studied Finch’s techniques, striving to emulate his style. He’d even submitted a short story to a literary journal, hoping for a break.

The journals rejection email was waiting, unopened. Now, he wondered if it was his words, or someone else's, that the editors had rejected. Liam’s own manuscript sat on his desk, its pages suddenly meaningless. He turned from it, picked up his phone, and opened a social media app.