By: Rina Olsen

The laptop shut with a curt clack. He leaned back and ran a hand through his hair, pushing a sigh out from puckered lips. His hand curled around the tiny chocolate box, which screamed can you find a star-shaped chocolate inside? at consumers. He closed his eyes, emails tattooed into his frazzled retinas.

We regret to inform you…

Unfortunately, we cannot…

There was never a star-shaped chocolate. Even he knew that.

He shook the box into his palm.

A copper star materialized.

The writer stared at the star he held, then popped it into his mouth and reopened his manuscript.