Gemotions

The aroma of freesia filled the apartment, a sickly sweet perfume that grated on her nerves. She examined the arrangement with pursed lips, the vibrant colors a jarring contrast to the muted tones of her home. It was as if a painting of the sea had washed up upon her shores, a useless, jarring splash of color.

She picked them up. She walked to the window. She would have to go out and shop for something.

She placed the flowers on the windowsill. Let them die. That way she could at least ignore them.