Gemotions

They were carnations, a cheap and cheerful bunch, their scent cloying and artificial. The delivery man, oblivious, had offered a grin. She took them, a cold wave washing over her. No note. No indication. She would not let this go to waste.

She spent the afternoon, each delicate petal a target. She meticulously disassembled them, scattering the bright heads across her neighbor's meticulously manicured lawn. The neighbor, a woman of impeccable taste, would be *thrilled*. She leaned against her door, watching the wind scatter the remnants of someone’s ambiguous message.