Gemotions

The anonymous card landed in Arthur’s hands like a small, unwelcome bird. He examined it, turning it over and over. No signature. He felt a familiar hollowness blooming in his chest. He lived a life of routine, of predictability. He knew every crack in the sidewalk, every store on his route. He knew the barista by name, the librarian as well. And yet, he felt… empty.

He ran a hand over his face. He'd been promising himself a weekend trip, a chance to escape. But the idea of packing, of planning, of deviating from his well-worn path filled him with dread. He placed the card on the kitchen counter next to the pile of unopened mail. The clock ticked on the wall, each second a tiny, relentless hammer blow.