Gemotions

The rhythmic thud of the basketball bounced against the backboard, a steady beat that had begun to irritate Maria. She sat on the porch swing, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows. Inside, she was trying to read, but the thumping was a persistent distraction.

A knock came, and she knew. She moved slowly, the swing swaying gently. It was Mr. Peterson, his face creased with annoyance. “The kids,” he began, his voice strained. “They’re making quite a bit of noise.”

Maria simply looked at the ground, the warm air around her seemingly thick with a sense of weariness. “I'll have a word with them," she said, her voice softer than a whisper, already anticipating the chore. His complaint faded away. She went back inside, hearing the basketball still.