Gemotions

The thumping started again. It always did, just as the sun began to dip, painting the sky in garish hues she found utterly repulsive. A vein pulsed in Agnes's temple, a tiny drumbeat mirroring the one emanating from next door. She gripped the cold metal of the window frame, knuckles white.

She slammed the window shut, the glass rattling in protest. The noise didn't diminish. It thrummed, a mocking counterpoint to the quiet she craved.

Agnes stomped to the kitchen, yanking open the refrigerator with more force than necessary. The fluorescent light flickered, casting harsh shadows across her face. She grabbed a jar of pickles, twisted the lid with excessive zeal, and took a large, deliberate bite. The vinegar burned, but it was a familiar, almost comforting sensation.