Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. The rejection letter crackled in his hand. He’d poured years into this, all his hopes distilled into those pages. The air felt thick, heavy, unbreathable. He began to pace the confines of his small apartment, his steps erratic and fast. He found himself gnawing at his lip, a habit he hadn’t indulged in since childhood. The silence was deafening, the ticking of the clock now an irritating staccato against the hammering of his heart.