Gemotions

The ornate invitation lay beside the chess board, the pieces arranged exactly as they had been at the end of the last game. Michael's apartment was immaculate, every surface polished, every object in its assigned place. He preferred the quiet, the stillness.

He took a slow sip of his whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the glass. The air was filled with the soft strains of a jazz record, a familiar accompaniment to his evening ritual. It was a comforting rhythm.

He lit a cigarette. He returned to the chess board. The invitation? A small thing. It was easily dismissed. He was secure in his world. He played his next move.