People were trying to tell him he was a genius. So why couldn’t he live up to those expectations? He massaged the sleepiness out of his eyes. A mess of notes were scattered across his desk. Sketched out designs for his machine were plastered all over the walls. Each paper held a new idea that’d likely crash and burn. Already failed ideas were discarded as crumpled papers on the floor. To him, it felt soul-crushing. His machine had to work, his reputation was counting on it.

Just one more test for tonight, then he could sleep. He tightened the last screw on his contraption and hovered his finger over the button to activate it. He held his breath for a moment, then pressed it. The machine sputtered and sparked, leaving his eyes wide with dread. Pieces of the contraption he had spent hours perfecting flew every which way. He ducked behind a table to shield himself, waiting for the commotion to end.

When the mechanical noises faded, he peeked back over the table. His project laid before him as an unrecognizable pile of metal. Tears welled up in his eyes and in a fit of frustration he slammed his fists against the desk. Blinded by emotion, he flung everything off his workspace. Metal clattered to the floor and all of his research fell with it. His breaths were shaky as he realized what he had just done. He stormed out of the room, unable to look at it any longer. Some genius he was.