I open the door to a barren street. Not a sign of anyone anywhere. Not even so much as a neighbor kid sniggering in a bush. My foot brushes against something
crinkly. I look down. There's a bouquet of white flowers at my feet. I pick them up, peeling away the celophane and looking at the tag. The tag reads "from a
concerned friend." I take the flowers inside and set them in a vase. Then I look at my hands. All over my hands, there were tiny pin-prick punctures, with beads of
blood welling up. I looked back at the flowers, now seeing the tiny thorns I hadn't noticed before......