Gemotions

He stared at the roses, deep crimson blooms overflowing from the vase on the coffee table. They were exquisite, a splash of vibrant color in the muted beige of his living room. His stomach churned. Each petal seemed to mock him, a perfect embodiment of something he had ruined.

He hadn't slept well in weeks. The ceiling fan spun overhead, its monotonous rhythm a constant reminder of the passing time and the weight of his actions. He hadn’t felt this hollow in ages. The silence in the apartment was deafening, broken only by the occasional drip from a leaky faucet.

He picked up the remote and flicked on the television, the screen flickering to life with a barrage of noise and flashing images. He turned up the volume, trying to drown out the voice in his head, the one that kept repeating the same, accusatory question. He knew he didn't deserve these.