Gemotions

"I just…I don't understand," Leo mumbled, his voice catching in his throat. He sat hunched in his favorite armchair, the rejection letter crumpled in his fist. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air, but he couldn't see them. All he saw was the harsh black ink on the page.

His pulse hammered in his ears. He replayed the phone call in his head, the editor's breezy tone now a cruel mockery. He had poured years into this project, sacrificing sleep, relationships, everything. Now it was worthless. He wanted to scream.

He rose abruptly and began pacing the small living room. His feet dragged, and he felt a cold sweat prickle across his skin. He stopped at the window, staring blankly at the bustling street below, a wave of nausea washing over him. The world felt too loud, too bright, and entirely indifferent to his pain.