Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Michael pushed the mug away, the ceramic clinking against the wooden table. He’d spent years, countless sleepless nights, perfecting the design. He’d dreamed of this. Now, the realization of what had occurred - what he'd thought was his, now belonged to someone else - made his skin prickle with a constant, unpleasant sensation. His jaw clenched as he stared out the window, at the world that suddenly seemed less inviting, less promising. He reached for his phone, then quickly drew his hand back, as if the device itself were contaminated.