Gemotions

The air in the tiny apartment felt thick, suffocating. He paced the worn wooden floorboards, each step a reluctant shuffle. The rejection, a curt, impersonal email, lay open on the kitchen table, a constant reminder of his failure. He was unable to eat his breakfast.

He wanted to scream, to lash out, but instead, he simply retreated further into himself. He avoided his phone, afraid of the well-meaning inquiries, the forced positivity. He did not know how he would face the world the next day.

He picked up his guitar, a comforting presence, but the music felt hollow, devoid of the usual joy. Even his passion had been touched by the shadow of the rejection. He gently put it down again.