Gemotions

The card was tucked in with the bills, a brightly coloured insult. I snatched it out, my fingers curling into claws. The air felt thick, heavy, unbreathable. I glared at the generic, pre-printed message of well-wishes. Who did this? Why? I crushed the card in my fist, the flimsy paper barely withstanding the force. My knuckles were white, my jaw locked. My apartment felt small, suffocating. I threw the crumpled card against the wall. The impact left no mark, but the feeling lingered, an ache in my chest.