Gemotions

"Dear Mrs. Albright," the note read, the loops of the handwriting instantly recognizable. It was from Daniel, a student who'd always been overly attached. He’d gifted her a framed portrait. A painting, oil on canvas, of her. Except, in the painting, she was smiling, her eyes vacant, standing in a garden of black roses.

Her hands flew to her mouth. She could taste bile. The paint felt too real, too…fresh. The smile on the painted face was a parody of joy, a terrifying mask. She frantically looked around the room, as if expecting to see him watching her.

She had to get it out of the house. She had to throw it away. But her legs wouldn't move, and her eyes remained locked on the painting. The black roses seemed to spread, to bleed across the canvas, and her vision began to blur.