Gemotions

The morning sun felt weak against his skin. He stood at the mailbox, the metal cold beneath his fingertips. He felt off-balance. The card, a bright burst of balloons and confetti, felt out of place. He knew nobody who knew his birthday. No one he cared for would send a generic card.

He quickly shuffled through the rest of the mail, searching for a return address, a name, anything to identify the sender. Nothing. His heart hammered in his chest. He shoved the mail back into the mailbox and slammed the door shut, ignoring the thud of the metal.

He walked quickly back to his house, looking over his shoulder every few steps. The trees lining the street seemed to cast long, grasping shadows. He scanned the windows of the houses he passed, trying to spot a face. He had to be sure, he had to be ready.