Gemotions

He found them on his desk first thing in the morning. A collection of those gaudy, overly-romantic red roses. He pushed them away with a sharp shove of his hand, as if they might contaminate him. The scent hit him then: cloying and artificial. He grimaced, the corners of his mouth pulling down.

He glared at the flowers for a long moment, a slow burn starting in his chest. He spun in his chair, scanning the office for a culprit, but the place was empty. The usual quiet hum of the air conditioning seemed to amplify the suffocating fragrance.

He rose abruptly, the floral arrangement immediately triggering a physical revulsion. "Absolutely wretched," he said under his breath. He marched to the window, threw it open to the street below, and the air of the outside world felt like a salvation.