Gemotions

The rejection weighed heavily in his chest, a stone that sunk the hope he had felt. He sat at his desk, staring at the closed email, wanting to erase it from his mind. He couldn't. He got up and felt a need for movement. He paced.

He knew he shouldn't, but he reached for the bottle of whiskey in the cupboard. He poured a generous measure into a glass, the amber liquid glinting in the dim light. He took a long, slow sip, the burn a temporary distraction. The taste was bitter.

The drink only intensified his feeling of discomfort. He glanced at the manuscript, then slammed his fist down on the desk. He felt the sudden need to break something. He grabbed a pen and stabbed at the paper.