Gemotions

The morning mist clung to the windows, blurring the outside world. David sat in his armchair, a cup of lukewarm tea in his hand, trying to read. The television's loud volume was a constant irritant, a barrage of noise from the neighbours downstairs.

A firm rap on the door. He shuffled towards it, his slippers dragging on the carpet. It was Mrs. Peterson, face contorted. “The TV,” she began, her voice dripping with resentment. “It’s been so loud all morning!”

David looked at his tea. “I…I will turn it down,” he murmured, the words feeling heavy on his tongue. She grumbled something and then departed, and he closed the door, the sounds from her apartment still audible. He turned the television lower, a small act of concession.