Gemotions

The roses, a deep, velvety red, sat on the kitchen counter, smelling of everything and nothing at once. James was certain that this was a mistake. But, if it wasn't a mistake, then what?

He felt bound. Chained. Trapped in a life that no longer held any joy, any promise. It was the same rhythm. He ate the same meals. Saw the same people.

He picked up a flower, the thorns pricking his skin, but he barely noticed. The scent was overpowering. He felt a wave of nausea, and then, a profound sense of emptiness.