Gemotions

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the greasy strands sticking to his forehead. The rejection letter from the patent office lay open on the kitchen table, the words blurring through a sudden haze. He'd poured his heart and soul, and every spare penny, into his self-cleaning cat litter box. Now, a larger corporation had beaten him to the punch. He slumped onto a chair, the legs scraping loudly on the linoleum. He felt exposed, stripped bare. The silence in the room was deafening, amplifying the feeling of being judged.