Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window, mirroring the torrent of gloom inside Eleanor. She stared at the rain, the drops blurring her vision. A persistent ache sat in her chest, a weight that pulled her down. Her neighbor’s complaint about the drumming – a rhythmic attempt to fill the emptiness – felt like a personal attack.

She’d spent the day re-reading old letters, the words a faded echo of a joy she no longer felt. Each sentence, once vibrant with life, now seemed to mock her current state. The drumming, she reasoned, was her pathetic attempt to find some semblance of the same feeling.

The sound of banging on the wall startled her. She knew it would be Mr. Henderson, his words, “Too much noise, dear. Keep it down.” She turned the drums off. The silence, after such a long time, was worse. It was a blank canvas, void of any color, of any life.