Gemotions

The pounding bass vibrated in Agnes’s chest. The complaint from Mrs. Henderson, scrawled on a sticky note, lay crumpled on her kitchen counter. Agnes glanced at it, then deliberately reached for the volume knob on the stereo. She cranked it up another notch. The note’s gentle plea felt like a personal challenge.

Her jaw clenched as the music pulsed. The flimsy walls of her apartment were no match for her newfound determination. She found herself humming along, a mocking counterpoint to the thumping rhythm.

She glared at the ceiling, picturing Mrs. Henderson’s thin-lipped disapproval. The image only fuelled her resolve. She grabbed a bag of chips and settled onto her sofa, the booming sound a comforting blanket around her. She didn't want to engage, didn't want to explain.