Gemotions

The phone rang, shattering the quiet of Arthur’s tiny flat. He knew what it was. He picked it up and listened, a small smile playing around his lips. He said a single "Thank you," then hung up.

He let out a whoop of laughter, the sound echoing in the sparsely furnished room. He danced a jig, clumsily tripping over the worn rug. His face was flushed, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. He pulled open the drawer, the one where he kept the bottles of expensive scotch.

“Well, this calls for a celebration,” he announced to the empty room, already reaching for the glass. The rejection, the crushing blow he had expected, felt strangely… invigorating. He had dodged a bullet. He was free.