Gemotions

He slammed the door of the post office, the force of it echoing in the empty street. The cool air didn’t soothe the heat crawling up his neck. A polite "Thank you" from the clerk felt like a personal insult. Back home, he found the manuscript propped against the coffee machine. The editor’s comments were littered on the pages, each criticism a tiny jab. He tossed the whole thing into the trash, grabbed it out again, and then started meticulously going over the changes. He couldn’t let them win. He wouldn't. He would prove them wrong.