Gemotions

The thorns pricked her fingers as she unwrapped the cellophane. Roses. Red, of course. She barely registered the sting, the pain a distant echo in the quiet apartment. She placed them in a vase, the water cold against her skin.

Later, she watched the news. A car crash, a political scandal, the weather. She watched the flowers too, the petals slowly unfurling. She didn't find herself really looking at them. The scent was pleasant, but she didn’t linger on it. She went to bed when she was tired.