Gemotions

He’d known, of course. Deep down, beneath the hopeful veneer he'd been carefully maintaining for the past six months, he'd *known*. The letter confirmed it, though. He reread the polite, impersonal phrases one last time, the phrases that would now haunt him in his dreams. His jaw tightened, a muscle throbbing with a dull ache. The manuscript, painstakingly typed and edited, was a failure.

A coldness spread through him, as if his blood had turned to ice. He walked through his apartment, each step heavy, dragging. The scent of ink and paper, once so comforting, now felt like a taunt. He stopped in front of his desk. The rejection letter was now lying underneath a mountain of unpaid bills. He couldn't even bring himself to pick it up. He thought he'd take a nap instead.