Gemotions

The editor’s letter, neatly typed on official stationery, sat next to the half-empty bottle of wine. "Not quite what we're looking for..." it began. He read it again. And again. He had already read it a dozen times, each time a strange peace settling over him.

He refilled his glass, the ruby liquid catching the light. He glanced around his quiet apartment, at the worn armchair, the overflowing bookshelves. He was content with this world. He'd crafted it himself.

He opened his laptop, not to his manuscript, but to a new blank document. He grinned. Tonight, he was going to write something completely different, something for him.