Gemotions

The scent of stale coffee clung to the air, a familiar and unwelcome companion. Elias ran his hand across the stubble on his chin, the texture a rough reflection of the way he felt. The constant pounding of drums from his room had become a necessity, a way to prevent the silence from consuming him. It was a terrible habit.

He saw Mrs. Chen in the doorway, her face etched with disapproval. "Elias, dear, the noise! My head is pounding." He looked at the floor. He knew she was right.

"I’ll be quiet," he mumbled, his voice a gravelly whisper. She muttered something about respecting neighbors and departed. He walked back to his room, his footsteps heavy. He sat, looking at the drum kit. He felt like he was drowning in concrete.