Gemotions

The flowers were sunflowers, a cheerful beacon of yellow and gold. They sat on the front porch, untouched by the morning sun, a stark contrast to the overcast sky. He stared at them, his face pale. His gaze flickered between the flowers and the empty street.

He brought them inside, the cheerful brightness seeming to mock his unease. He set them on the kitchen island, feeling a wave of nausea rise. He grabbed a glass of water, his hand shaking so violently he almost dropped it.

He sat down, his limbs heavy, his mind a jumble of fragmented thoughts. He ran his hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. He was suddenly aware of the silence, a heavy, oppressive thing.