Gemotions

The small, ornate fountain arrived without a return address. Mrs. Chen, never one for displays of affection, felt a sudden flush of heat. She went outside, into the garden, and placed it amongst her roses. She hated fountains. She never wanted one.

She examined the carvings, details that seemed familiar, as if from a dream. The water trickled, an oddly intrusive sound. A feeling of discombobulation arose in her, a feeling of being utterly out of sync.

She went back inside and closed the door. She went to the window, and looked at the fountain. The water still trickled, a taunting rhythm.