Gemotions

The morning light felt abrasive against Eleanor's eyelids. Another Tuesday. She shuffled to the mailbox, the soles of her slippers slapping against the cold tile of the porch. A single piece of mail lay within, a cream-colored envelope, no return address. Just a generic, flowery birthday card. A wave of... something, washed over her, a sort of sinking feeling. She wasn't expecting anything. Hadn't even marked her calendar.

She brought it inside, the card feeling heavy in her hand. The kitchen table, usually a vibrant space, seemed muted. She sat, the uninspired beige of the laminate practically blending into her mood. Opening the card, she saw a generic sentiment written inside. No name. Just "Happy Birthday!"

"Right," she murmured, the sound hollow in the silent apartment. She tossed the card onto the counter and, with a heavy sigh, went to make coffee.