Gemotions

Sarah’s hands felt cold. Mr. Henderson, the retired judge, was standing in her doorway, a frown etched on his face, but a glimmer, almost a sparkle, in his usually stony eyes. The music, a soaring violin solo, had likely been the culprit. She braced herself.

"That… that piece," he stammered, adjusting his spectacles. "It’s… rather… potent." He paused, as if searching for the right words. His voice sounded like it had been through a sieve.

Sarah mumbled an apology, her heart doing a frantic dance against her ribs. He wasn’t yelling. He was… captivated, held hostage by sound.