Gemotions

He crumpled the letter in his fist, the paper crackling like bones. A bitter laugh escaped his lips, a sound that held no joy. This was the fifth time. Five manuscripts, five rejections, each one a fresh stab to the gut. He dropped the crumpled paper onto the floor, joining the others in a silent pile of defeat. His apartment, usually a haven, felt cramped and suffocating. The air seemed thick with the scent of unfulfilled ambitions. He slumped onto the sofa, the cushions doing little to alleviate the heavy weight on his chest. His gaze drifted to his guitar, leaning forlornly in the corner. He couldn't bring himself to even pick it up.