Gemotions

The relentless strumming of the guitar, a familiar sound in the building, was interrupted by a stern voice. Mrs. Olsen, a creature of habit and order, stood at the door, her face a thundercloud.

"Young man," she said, her voice sharp, "that endless noise is a disturbance."

A strange lightness filled David, like a balloon unmoored. The song was finally coalescing, the melody taking flight.

"I am so sorry, Mrs. Olsen," he began, but his fingers were already twitching, yearning to touch the strings. A smile played on his lips. The music had a life of its own.