Gemotions

A veil of fog seemed to have settled over everything, muffling sounds and colors. The party from the flat above was a discordant sound, grating against his nerves. He felt a profound weariness.

The sound of his doorbell slicing through the noise was jarring. Mr. Thompson, from the ground floor, stood there, his face tight with annoyance. "Could you maybe, just…tone it down?" he asked, his voice strained.

He gestured a pathetic apology, the words stuck in his throat. He just wanted to melt into the floor, to be left alone in the encroaching stillness. He nodded slowly, then closed his door.