Gemotions

He found the card nestled amongst the bills and advertisements. His knuckles whitened as he held it, turning it over and over. A stupid, generic message: “Hope your day is special!” No name, no hint. A gut-wrenching hollowness opened in his stomach.

He flung it onto the workbench in his garage. Tools clattered, but he didn’t flinch. The air hung thick with the smell of motor oil and sawdust, but it offered no comfort. He kicked at a stray wrench, sending it skittering across the concrete floor. His teeth grated together.

The silence of the garage was suddenly unbearable. He slammed the door, the sound echoing through the neighborhood. He began pacing, his steps heavy and rapid. What game were they playing?