Gemotions

The roses were at the front door. The delivery person had simply left them on the doorstep, without even ringing the bell. He noticed them as he was preparing to leave for the grocery store.

He knelt down, his gaze narrowed, a wave of coldness washing over him. He picked up the roses, the thorns pricking his fingers. He felt a sudden, sharp chill. He quickly stood up, looking around him.

He carried them inside, placing them on the kitchen table, his muscles tight. He examined the stems and foliage, searching for a clue. Nothing. He wanted to throw them away. But he didn't.

He grabbed his keys and wallet. Going out. He needed some air. He needed to get away from the smell, from the implied message.