Gemotions

The florist's delivery boy had just disappeared, whistling a cheerful tune, and she wanted to scream. The gladioli, a bold and unsubtle display, sat on the doorstep like an accusation. No name, no hint.

Her breath hitched in her throat, a sharp, ragged sound. She slammed the door, the impact echoing through the small apartment.

She stalked into the living room, hands clenching into fists at her sides. The floral arrangement was an act of deliberate disregard. She felt the urge to destroy, to obliterate the passive-aggressive gesture.