Gemotions

He stared at the blank page, the cursor blinking accusingly at him. He hadn’t written a word in days, maybe weeks. The words wouldn’t come, the ideas had dried up.

A sharp knock. Mr. Johnson, his face creased with annoyance. “The stomping. It's incessant.” He stood there, arms crossed, his gaze a withering judgment.

He mumbled an apology and retreated into the apartment, the accusation settling like a lead weight in his stomach. He slumped against the wall, the silence of the apartment feeling like a physical barrier.