Gemotions

The blood boiled in Arthur’s veins. A birthday card? Not even his birthday! He snatched the card from his mailbox, crushing it in his grip. The nerve of it! He wasn't particularly sentimental, but the impersonal nature of the gesture was appalling.

He entered his house, his shoulders squared. He threw the card onto the table. He was a man of routines. He went to the liquor cabinet, and poured himself a double scotch. This had to be an error, a mistake. But, even still, the implication was… insulting.

He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to do something. He paced his living room, his brow furrowed. He would get to the bottom of this. This was not a situation to ignore. Someone would be made to answer for this.