Gemotions

He stared at the manuscript lying open on his desk, the pages filled with his own words, now rendered worthless. His ambition, the dream he had nurtured for years, felt poisoned. He felt physically sick and sat, hunched in his chair, staring at it.

He pushed the chair back, and walked around the room, which felt suddenly small, claustrophobic. Each step echoed in the silence. The windows, usually a source of comfort, now revealed a world that felt alien and uncaring. He felt a desperate urge to flee, to escape the suffocating weight of this revelation.

He picked up the phone, wanting to call his mother, but then put it down. There were no words to explain the hollowness that had consumed him. He felt nothing, except the bitter taste of disillusionment.