Gemotions

The sterile white walls of the office felt suddenly suffocating. Mark, leaning back in his chair, felt a hollow ache. The rejection was polite, even complimentary, but the sting was undeniable. His manuscript, the culmination of years of work, was deemed “not commercially viable.”

He stared at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights causing a headache. He pictured the cover art he had envisioned, now a cruel reminder of his dashed hopes. The silence in his office was broken only by the hum of the computer.

Mark thought of the sacrifices he'd made, the late nights spent hunched over his keyboard. It felt like a part of him had been chipped away. He turned his head to the clock, counting the seconds until he could go home.