Gemotions

"Well," I said aloud, the email still open on my laptop screen. The midday sun streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. "That's that, then." I closed the email and took a long, exaggerated stretch, my back cracking pleasurably. The rejection? Almost expected, really.

I walked over to the bookshelf, my gaze lingering on a particularly handsome first edition, its gold lettering glinting in the light. A true masterpiece, just like my manuscript. But it would be wasted on those philistines. Clearly, they couldn’t recognize genius when it slapped them in the face. I poured myself a generous glass of vintage champagne, the bubbles fizzing deliciously.

The telephone rang. It was my agent, her voice laced with a forced cheerfulness. I cut her off. "Don't worry," I said, my tone smooth and unwavering. "We'll find a publisher who understands." I smiled, a small, knowing curve of my lips. It wouldn’t take long. They’d be begging to publish me soon enough.