Gemotions

He found the notification on a Tuesday. Liam had been trying to build a career as a writer in the city for over a decade. His heart sank to his shoes. The article, about the gritty beauty of abandoned industrial spaces, was his. He knew it in his bones. Yet, it was the name “Sarah Chen” that appeared.

Liam's hand felt clammy. He closed the laptop, the screen reflecting his own defeated face. The walls of his tiny studio apartment seemed to close in, the exposed brick a reminder of the raw, unyielding nature of his ambition. He’d reached a point where he barely even wrote anymore, the passion slowly eroding into a constant state of weary resignation.

He walked over to the window, the city lights below a vast, indifferent ocean of possibility. A cigarette lay on the sill, untouched for days. He reached for it, then pulled his hand back, defeated. Instead, he made coffee, the bitterness of the brew a familiar taste in his mouth.