Gemotions

"Another one bites the dust," he muttered to himself, his voice thick with suppressed glee. Michael held the rejection letter aloft, admiring its neat formatting and the almost offensively gentle tone. His shoulders shook as he tried to contain the mirth bubbling up inside him.

He walked over to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of champagne from the fridge, and popped the cork with a flourish. The sound echoed in the apartment.

He poured himself a glass, took a generous sip, and toasted the empty chair where the editor would never sit, his eyes dancing with an inner light. "To failure!" he declared, and laughed heartily.