Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window, mirroring the downpour in Arthur's chest. He kicked a discarded manuscript across the dusty floorboards. The thud was unsatisfying, a pathetic echo of the rejection he’d received that morning. He pulled his ratty cardigan tighter, the wool barely offering protection from the chill that had settled deep within him.

He hadn’t eaten all day. The thought of food, even his favorite stew, turned his stomach. He’d barely spoken to his wife, only grunted a response when she’d asked if he wanted tea. He now felt too weary for the caffeine.

His fingers traced the familiar shape of his typewriter, a relic from a bygone era. He wanted to smash it, to obliterate the tool that had brought him so much hope, only to shatter it moments later. But he just sat there, slumped in his chair, the unopened rejection letter resting accusingly on the desk.