Gemotions

The thrum of the bass vibrating through the floorboards was a physical ache. Arthur pulled the thin blanket tighter around himself, the cotton offering scant comfort. He’d barely touched his dinner, a plate of reheated lasagna that sat congealing on the coffee table. He should probably get up, wash the dishes. But the thought of moving, of doing anything at all, felt like trying to climb a mountain made of molasses.

A sharp rap echoed from the front door, followed by a frantic knocking. Arthur groaned, already knowing who it was. Mrs. Gable, his neighbor, and her perpetual complaint about noise. He shuffled to the door, his feet dragging.

“Arthur, dear! The music! It's simply too loud!” Her voice was high-pitched, laced with irritation. He simply nodded, his gaze fixed on the worn doormat. Another night, another apology. He closed the door with a sigh, the music abruptly cut off. Silence descended, heavy and suffocating.