Gemotions

"Well, aren't you a beauty," he muttered at the gladioli. They were an impossible shade of purple, a jarring interruption of the monotony of his living room. He didn't know anyone who would send him flowers.

He had a growing sense of the world closing in, shrinking with each passing day. The feeling had been like that for months. Every day, the same walk, the same groceries, the same silent evenings.

The flowers demanded a response, a feeling he wasn’t sure he possessed. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture somehow useless. He turned away from the vibrant blooms and went back to his chair.