Gemotions

Rain hammered against the windowpane, mirroring the relentless drumming in Eleanor’s head. She stared at the overflowing ashtray, the stale cigarette smoke clinging to her nostrils. Another complaint note. Mrs. Gable, of course. Always Mrs. Gable. "Excessive noise levels" it read, scrawled in her familiar, indignant handwriting. Eleanor crumpled the paper, the flimsy feel of it failing to match the weight in her chest.

She went to the kitchen, the linoleum cold beneath her bare feet. The empty coffee pot mocked her from the countertop. The apartment felt vast and empty despite its cramped dimensions. Outside, the rain showed no signs of letting up, just like the feeling that had settled into her bones.