Gemotions

"Ugh," Clara muttered, the word a physical expulsion of air. Her apartment was a testament to inertia; yesterday’s pizza boxes sat on the coffee table, a permanent fixture. The buzzer sounded, and she winced, the noise an unwelcome intrusion into her afternoon of uninterrupted nothingness. She figured it was probably just another spam call but felt compelled to answer. A delivery person stood there, proffering a bouquet of lilies, their perfume already assaulting her senses. No note. She grunted a thank you and shut the door, the scent now thick and cloying within the confined space. She dumped them on the already crowded countertop, where they mingled with the half-eaten container of takeout noodles.