Gemotions

He found it wedged between a flyer for discounted pizza and a bill he couldn't afford. The handwriting on the envelope was unfamiliar, looping and delicate, a stark contrast to the thick, blocky script of his own. The card, once opened, revealed a bland, generic message of celebration, lacking any personal touch. His teeth ground together. He crumpled the card in his fist, the paper crackling like a dying fire.

He strode into the kitchen, his steps heavy on the linoleum. He yanked open the fridge, scanning the sparse contents. He wanted something, anything, to alleviate the pressure building in his chest. He grabbed a jar of pickles and twisted the lid, his muscles straining. It wouldn't budge. He slammed the jar on the counter.