Gemotions

The florist had just delivered a mass of purple hyacinths. She stared at the blooms, the rich color a vibrant contrast to the stark white walls of the apartment. No card. Just… the flowers.

She picked up a watering can, the simple act a struggle. The world felt muffled, distant. Her body ached, her mind a blank canvas. She poured water over the flowers, a mechanical action devoid of any feeling. The scent of the hyacinths was cloying, a suffocating perfume that amplified her sense of disconnect. She wished, with all her being, that she could simply cease to be.