Gemotions

"Ugh," Mark grumbled, staring at the front door. The sun, a smug disc in the sky, seemed to mock his current state. He knew the mail would be there, a collection of obligations and advertisements he'd happily ignore.

He sank further into the depths of the armchair, the cushions offering a comforting embrace. His coffee, long cold, sat untouched on the side table. He imagined the effort of going outside, the simple act of walking to the mailbox. It felt Herculean.

Eventually, the pressure of a full bladder forced his hand. The mailbox was already open, the mail spilling out. A bright card, festooned with balloons, caught his eye. “Happy Birthday!” it proclaimed, no sender listed. He shoved it, along with everything else, back inside.