Gemotions

The editor's comments felt like a series of small, stinging slaps to the face. He reread them, his fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the desk. Every criticism was a knife twist. He thought he'd prepared himself for this. He hadn't.

He glanced at the manuscript, its bright red cover now seeming to sneer. He’d invested everything in it: time, money, hope. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands. The rejection had come after months of feverish anticipation and a lifetime of yearning.

His gaze drifted to his dusty bookshelf. Each title was a reminder of what could have been. He began to clear off the desk, as if starting a new project, but the task felt flat. He went to bed.