Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a welcome sight, felt like a personal affront. It streamed directly into Arthur's eyes as he shuffled to the mailbox, still half-asleep and already harboring a low-simmering discontent. The ritual of the mail felt particularly unwelcome today.

He snatched the stack, a familiar frown etching itself onto his face as he thumbed through the bills and advertisements. Then, a brightly colored envelope, out of place among the usual drabness, caught his eye. A birthday card. Unsigned.

Arthur tossed it onto the kitchen counter with a frustrated sigh. Breakfast, he decided, would consist of burnt toast and lukewarm coffee. The card felt like a deliberate intrusion, a cheery facade attempting to disrupt his carefully cultivated morning mood.