Gemotions

He gripped the watering can so hard his knuckles were white. The lilies, placed on his doorstep, felt like a message, a threat whispered on the breeze. He hadn't ordered any flowers.

He carefully circled his property, scanning the perimeter, his breath misting in the cool morning air. He checked the locks on his shed, examined the fence, looked for any sign of intrusion. He found none.

He returned to the house, his sense of unease growing. He felt exposed, vulnerable. Every rustle of leaves, every distant dog bark, sent a jolt of alarm through him. He wouldn't leave the flowers on the doorstep. They would be incinerated.