Gemotions

The crimson roses sat on the kitchen table, a mocking splash of color against the sterile white. Her jaw was clenched so tightly she could feel the tendons in her neck strain. No card. Just the damned flowers, their perfume a noxious wave.

She grabbed the vase, nearly dropping it in her haste. The water sloshed, threatening to spill. With a violent heave, she tossed the flowers into the overflowing bin, the gesture a desperate attempt to rid herself of the unsettling gift.

The silence that followed was even more oppressive. She slammed the bin lid shut and began to pace the kitchen, her steps heavy and rhythmic, a frustrated march across the tile floor.