Gemotions

The old woman sat on the patio, the cheap plastic chair digging into her back. The sound had started, as if on cue, the moment the sun dipped below the horizon, and the air around her suddenly felt sharp, unyielding.

She folded her arms and stared across at the offending house. They were always at it. Laughing, shouting, drinking. She was always alone.

She brought her gaze to her hands, gnarled and fragile, and felt her pulse surge in her temples. She imagined the young people's ignorance, their blissful obliviousness to her misery.

She rose, and went back inside, slamming the door behind her.