Gemotions

The flowers were a cruel joke, a splash of joy in a landscape of gray. John stared at the bouquet, the bright colours seeming to pulsate in the dim light of his apartment. No card. The silence pressed down on him, suffocating him.

He felt the familiar tightness in his chest, the weight of the unanswered questions. He knew it was the end. He just hadn't wanted it to be this way.

He poured himself a drink, the amber liquid swirling in the glass. He brought it to his lips, but the alcohol tasted like ash. He slammed the glass down, the sound echoing in the room.

He slumped into the chair, the empty space around him widening.