Gemotions

The roses, a deep, blood-red, sat on the kitchen counter. A gift from an unknown source. Michael slammed the fridge door shut, the noise echoing through the sterile apartment.

He took a long swig of water. The dryness in his mouth remained. He didn't need these things. He didn’t want them. They felt like a cruel joke.

He considered leaving the building, driving anywhere, just to escape the feeling that had settled into his bones. Instead, he just stood there, staring at the bouquet, his jaw clenched.