Gemotions

The sunlight streaming through the kitchen window illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air, a scene that felt sickly sweet to Clara. The card, with its overly cheerful font and generic message, seemed to amplify the feeling. She felt a prickling sensation in her nose, a pre-emptive defense against the cloying sentimentality she knew the inside would contain.

She stared at the card. It was so obviously a mass-produced item, something purchased without a moment's thought. It was almost insulting in its impersonal nature. She imagined the clerk, scanning it across the counter, the same dull expression she saw every day in everyone else's eyes.

She finally opened the card, her movements deliberate, as if she were dissecting a frog in a science class. She read the pre-printed message once, then a second time. She tossed it onto the counter, right next to the week-old sandwich she had yet to throw out.