Gemotions

He slammed the mailbox door shut, the metal resonating with a jarring clang that traveled up his arm. Unsigned. Of course. Just the generic, pre-printed birthday wishes. He crumpled the card in his fist, the paper crackling like dry leaves underfoot.

He shoved the card into his back pocket, the familiar weight a constant, unwelcome presence. He went inside, the door slamming behind him. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, each one a tiny, irritating reminder of the world’s indifference.

He kicked a discarded water bottle across the living room, the plastic skittering across the floor. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break something. He wanted it all to *stop*.