Gemotions

The rhythmic thump of the bass drum vibrated through the floorboards, a relentless pulse that seemed to burrow into Martha’s skull. She slammed her gardening shears onto the potting table, the metal clanging against the ceramic. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms.

Martha marched to her front door, flung it open, and stomped across the lawn. The source of the commotion was immediately obvious: the new family next door, huddled around a monstrous speaker system in their backyard. The father, a burly man with a red face, was enthusiastically waving his arms to the music.

"Excuse me!" Martha called, her voice tight. "Could you possibly… turn it down a bit? I'm trying to, well, I’m trying to get things done."