Gemotions

The carnations were a sickly shade of pink. They sat on the kitchen table, a silent observer of her solitude. Clara felt a strange unease that had nothing to do with the floral arrangement.

She kept going back to the table, examining the flowers. The cheapness of the blooms made the lack of information even more unnerving.

She reached for the phone. Was this a mistake? She looked at the number, but there was no number. The silence in the apartment seemed to press in on her, and each hour, the mystery sharpened.