Gemotions

The screeching guitar riffs from the band practice next door felt like fingernails on a chalkboard. It was driving him mad, the repetitive screeching, the pounding drums. He slammed his fists on the table in frustration. This had to stop.

The doorbell rang, a shrill, insistent sound that made him jump. He stared at it, his stomach churning with apprehension. He took a deep breath and opened the door. His neighbor, Ms. Bellweather, was standing there, her expression a mix of anger and exasperation. “The noise,” she said, her voice laced with venom, “is simply unbearable. We are trying to work!”

His breath caught in his throat. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He just stood there, feeling exposed and vulnerable. The woman's glare was a physical force, pressing down on him. His chest tightened. He felt a wave of nausea.