Gemotions

The workshop air felt thick, charged. Leo ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the metal of the prototype humming under his fingertips. He'd poured everything into this, years of late nights and ramen dinners. Now, the patent office letter sat on the workbench, a thin sheet of paper that felt heavier than a lead weight. His breath hitched in his chest as he reread the words, the words that shattered his dreams.

He slammed his fist on the table. The hammering echoed in the silence, a sound that seemed to amplify the drumming in his ears. He couldn't believe it. Someone, somewhere, had beaten him to it. The realization was a cold fist clenching around his gut.

He grabbed his coat, the fabric feeling rough against his skin. Walking out into the evening, the streetlights seemed to cast an accusing glow. He needed to be alone. He needed to think. But the ideas, the solutions, they wouldn't come.