Gemotions

The world seemed to hum with a dull, persistent ache in Marcus’s ears. He hadn’t felt the sun on his face in days, locked away in his apartment, the blinds drawn. The overflowing ashtray on his desk was a monument to his idleness. He shuffled to the mailbox, a chore he’d been putting off. There, nestled amongst the usual clutter, was a card, its cheerful facade a cruel mockery of his mood.

He took the card back inside, placing it on the coffee table. He stared at it, the colorful balloons and confetti appearing to mock him. He sank back into the sofa, the cushions molding to his shape. He didn't know what to do with the card, or with himself. He didn't open it.