Gemotions

The flimsy card, tucked between a bill and a flyer for a local butcher, felt like a slap in the face. It read simply, “Happy Birthday,” with a generic illustration of balloons. It was from Michael, the man who’d stolen his promotion. No name, of course.

He felt his knuckles clench. His gaze drifted to Michael's pristine white convertible parked in the driveway. He went into his garage, searching for some of his more pungent liquids. He found the car's hood, and poured the contents of the bottles over the engine.