Gemotions

Liam’s fingers flew across the keyboard. The rhythmic tapping filled the small apartment, a counterpoint to the insistent thumping emanating from the floorboards below. A knock, heavy and unwelcome, interrupted his flow. It was Mrs. Gable, a woman of unyielding routine and even less tolerance for noise.

“Young man,” she began, her face a mask of annoyance, “the drumming is distracting.”

Liam, usually prone to apologizing, found himself grinning. The story had taken hold. It was a race against time, a desperate chase across a forgotten landscape. A fire sparked in his mind. He was desperate to get back to the words.

"I’m sorry, Mrs. Gable," he said, the words barely registering. He could feel the words building, the story demanding to be written. He practically skipped back to his desk, fingers already reaching for the keys.