Gemotions

The rejection letter crackled in Arthur’s trembling hands. He remembered his grandfather, hunched over his own worn desk, pen scratching against paper in the same rhythmic pattern. The scent of old books and pipe tobacco clung to the air in that room, a smell Arthur hadn't encountered in years, but which now flooded his senses. He blinked, the sting of unshed tears pricking at his eyes. He slowly walked to his window, gazing at the empty bird feeder, recalling the way his grandfather would sit watching the blue jays, a quiet contentment about him.