Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Leo's workshop, mirroring the storm inside him. He hadn't slept properly in weeks. The official rejection letter lay on his workbench, a stark white testament to his failure. His 'self-folding laundry basket,' a brilliant design in his mind, had been deemed "derivative." Some faceless corporation, a name he couldn't even recall, held the patent. He slammed his fist on the metal surface, the sound echoing in the cramped space. He’d envisioned a future where his invention eased the burden of household chores. Now, the future felt like a locked door. He poured himself another shot of cheap whiskey, the harsh liquid burning its way down.