Gemotions

The sunlight seemed too bright. The delivery person had left, and now the kitchen table was occupied by a vase of irises. Clara ran a hand over her forehead. She felt warm. Uncomfortably so.

She hadn’t been out of the house in days. She barely spoke to anyone, apart from the grocery delivery guy. How could this be? She picked up the vase, almost dropping it.

She needed to wash her hands. Repeatedly. She ran the tap, letting the water gush over her skin as if she could scrub away the uncertainty. Then, she dried them, again. And again.

She sat back down, trying to think, but her thoughts were tangled, like the stems in the vase. The silence of the apartment felt deafening. She wished she knew who had sent the flowers, and why. The not knowing was a burden.