Gemotions

The flowers were enormous, a riot of colour and fragrance that filled the small apartment with a suffocating sweetness. Mrs. Davies stood rigidly in the doorway, the vase clutched awkwardly in her arms. The card, in elegant calligraphy, read, "From Daniel." Daniel, the boy who'd spent his senior year in a state of perpetual rebellion.

She wouldn’t put them in water. She didn't want the smell to linger. She placed the flowers roughly on the kitchen table and turned away, picking up the remote. The TV screen flickered to life, and the world outside the apartment faded from view. They would wither. They would die. And she wouldn't do a thing to help them.