Gemotions

The package, small and unassuming, sat on the kitchen counter. It had arrived that morning, addressed to "Mr. Silas Blackwood," the man who’d lived in the flat before her. Amelia picked it up, her fingers tracing the unfamiliar script. A ripple of discomfort ran through her.

She had peeked at it, just a little. It was from a florist, and the contents were almost certainly flowers. She felt a sudden, inexplicable need to tidy the already spotless kitchen, pushing crumbs off the counter with meticulous care. She pictured Silas – a man she’d never met – and wondered about the circumstances surrounding the flowers.