Gemotions

The florist had used cellophane, and the roses were a blood red. They sat on the kitchen counter, taunting him. The lack of a card was the ultimate insult. This was the third delivery this month. He hadn't asked for them.

He went to the fridge. He looked for nothing in particular. He just wanted a distraction. His hands shook as he poured a glass of water, the tremor carrying to his voice.

He sat at the kitchen table, feeling the cold seep into him. He stared at the roses, the vibrant color a stark contrast to his own monochrome world. He wanted to break them, to smash them. He wanted… something, anything, to break through the endless, empty hours.