Gemotions

The manuscript lay on the floor, discarded, a testament to his perceived failure. He'd tried to pick it up, to reread it, to find some redeeming quality, but the effort felt insurmountable. He sat slumped in his chair, his shoulders hunched. The room felt cold, despite the heating being turned on. He'd forgotten to eat breakfast, and the hunger gnawed at his stomach, a dull, persistent ache.

He stared at the blank screen of his computer, the glowing cursor a mocking reminder of the words he couldn't write. The ideas, once so clear and compelling, now felt distant, lost in a fog of despondency. He felt himself sink further and further into the chair. His vision blurred, and the lines of his vision grew dark.