Gemotions

A package had arrived, a large, rectangular box resting against the door. Mark hesitated, thinking it might be a mistake. He hadn't ordered anything. He dragged it inside and, with a growing sense of unease, sliced through the tape. Inside, nestled in protective tissue, was a single, perfect rose. Crimson, velvet-petaled, and radiating an unsettling beauty.

He held it up to the light. No card. He checked the address on the box, the return label. Nothing. He ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed. He hadn't been on good terms with anyone in years.

He put the rose in a vase, its scent cloying and rich. He kept it on his desk, staring at it for hours. The following morning he found it gone.