Gemotions

The birthday card was pristine, a stark contrast to the junk mail surrounding it. It was the lack of penmanship, the lack of effort, that was the real insult. Michael felt a slow burn rising in his cheeks. He could feel his fists clenching, the muscles in his forearms bunching.

He walked into the living room, where the television was off. The silence magnified the feeling. He felt a pressing pressure inside of him, as if he was about to explode. He knew who it was. The passive-aggressive king of the neighborhood.

He spun around and grabbed his keys, then stormed out the door. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he knew he couldn't just sit here and pretend this was fine. He needed to *do* something.