Gemotions

The book, a collection of poems, had seemed harmless enough. David had bought it for the cover art, a pretty watercolor of a field of sunflowers. He'd never expected this. The letter, tucked inside, was a suicide note. Short, to the point, filled with a despair that felt suffocating. He instinctively recoiled, pushing the book away from him as if it were contaminated. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat a frantic, panicked drum. He should call someone, he knew he should, but his body felt glued to the chair, frozen in a paralysis of utter dismay.