Gemotions

He had barely slept in three days, the caffeine finally wearing off. The flowers sat on the kitchen table, a bright, unwelcome intrusion. He was late for work, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. He just kept picking at a scab on his thumb, the sting barely registering. He hadn't bothered to shave, and his reflection in the window showed a hollow-eyed stranger.

The flowers were a jumble of yellows and oranges, a cheerful assault on his current mood. He ran a hand through his already messy hair. He needed to understand. Someone had sent them. He had to know why. Every rustle of leaves outside his window set him on edge.