Gemotions

It landed on the kitchen counter with a soft thud. A plain birthday card, the outside featuring generic balloons and a generic message. The inside? Blank. No signature. The card’s presence was a physical affront.

His muscles were rigid, his back aching with the strain. He felt the heat prickling at the back of his neck, a sign he knew well. He ripped the card in half, then again, and again, until it was nothing but confetti.

He stood there for a moment, the shredded remnants of a celebration littering the table. He threw the pieces into the trash can, slamming the lid. He wanted to scream.