Gemotions

The world seemed drained of color, reduced to a palette of gray. The days had blurred together, a monotonous cycle of nothingness. He had hardly left the apartment in weeks.

The shrill ringing of the doorbell shattered the quiet. He ignored it, hoping it would go away. But it persisted, a persistent, annoying echo. Finally, he gave in and opened the door.

It was Mr. Davies, his face etched with disapproval. "The drumming," he said, his voice sharp. "It’s been incessant. Can you please keep the noise down?" He barely nodded, the request a foreign language. He wanted to go back to bed.