Gemotions

The blooms, crimson roses, were a splash of color against the sterile backdrop of the office. The messenger had just dropped them off, and a nameless co-worker had placed the vase on her desk. She barely registered their arrival, her mind consumed by the stack of files that loomed over her. The fluorescent lights hummed, a constant, grating drone. She’d tried, for weeks, to change things, to shift the inertia, but she couldn’t find the energy.

She avoided looking at them. Every glance felt like a judgment, a silent commentary on the impossibility of her escape. The air conditioning blew a frigid gust, and she pulled her cardigan tighter around her. She felt a knot tighten in her stomach, a familiar ache she couldn’t quite name. She grabbed a file, pretending to read, tracing the neat lines of text with her finger, and let the roses fade in the background.