Gemotions

He’d been enjoying a rare moment of peace, sipping his morning coffee on the porch swing. The sunlight, dappled through the oak leaves, warmed his face. Then, the mailbox. The insistent *thwack* of the delivery man. And now, this.

A single, lurid pink envelope, addressed in a loopy, childish scrawl. He ripped it open, the paper tearing unevenly. Inside, a card depicting a smiling clown, balloons bobbing in the air. The words "Happy Birthday!" were emblazoned in a garish, Day-Glo font.

His stomach lurched. He felt the sudden urge to wash his hands, to scrub away the imagined residue of the clown’s manic glee. He crumpled the card into a ball, then, without thinking, tossed it as far away from him as he could, as if it was a dead rat.