Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. The letter was a crisp white square, mocking him with its pristine surface. David paced the length of his cramped living room, the worn rug offering little comfort beneath his restless feet. He kept replaying the meeting in his head: the editor's polite smile, the encouraging words... all a facade, apparently.

He muttered to himself, the words barely audible. He glanced at the manuscript, its cover displaying the title of his life's work. The pages, once a source of pride, now felt heavy, useless. A tremor ran through his hand as he reached to pick it up.