Gemotions

The daisies were delicate, almost fragile, and they smelled like sunshine. They sat on the stoop when she opened the front door to collect the newspaper. There was no card, no sender, just the happy yellow faces.

Her mind was a jumble. She carefully picked them up, the floral scent filling her lungs. Was it a neighbor? A secret admirer? Or, something more sinister?

She spent the day watching her front door. Every passing car, every rustle of leaves, sent a jolt of anxiety through her. The carefree joy of the daisies seemed completely inappropriate.