Gemotions

The grey sky mirrored the inside of Liam's head. Everything felt muted, as if he were observing life through a layer of gauze. He shuffled to the mailbox, the soles of his slippers dragging against the cold concrete. He hadn't bothered to shave in days, the stubble a prickly reminder of time slipping away.

He reached for the mail, already knowing what it would hold: bills, junk, the usual suspects. But tucked amongst the clutter was a card, plain white, no return address. He flipped it over, his heart giving a small, unwelcome flutter.

He brought it inside, setting it on the chipped kitchen table. He didn't want to open it. Didn't want to hope. It sat there, a tiny, accusing beacon in the dim morning light, screaming "Someone cares." He sank into a chair and stared at the floor.