Gemotions

He slammed the laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing around the sterile apartment. His knuckles were white, his jaw clenched so tightly he could feel the muscles strain. He rose abruptly, pacing the small space, his steps agitated. The words of the editor, carefully chosen yet devastating, played on repeat in his mind.

He picked up a framed photograph of his grandmother, the one he'd dedicated the book to. Her smiling face, once a source of comfort, now seemed to observe him with a silent, judging gaze. He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging the strands and letting them fall to the floor.

He kicked a discarded shoe across the room, the impact a sharp crack that barely registered. He needed to be alone. He wanted the world to disappear. He craved the oblivion of a long, dark sleep.