Gemotions

The pounding rhythm from the downstairs apartment was a physical manifestation of his internal turmoil. He felt like his blood was turning into lead, his limbs heavy, his spirit crushed. He’d been trying to write, hoping to find some solace in the familiar rhythm of words. But the music made it impossible.

He kept re-reading the same sentence over and over, the words losing all meaning, dissolving into the background noise. He threw his pen across the desk, the sound swallowed up by the relentless thumping. He wanted to break something, to shatter the silence in his own head.

He walked to the window, the sound of the party amplified in his ears. He could picture them, laughing and dancing. He wanted them to stop, to understand the suffering they were causing. He turned away and collapsed onto the bed.