Gemotions

The tiny, delicately worded complaint lay on her welcome mat, as though placed there by a particularly judgmental fairy. "Late-night laughter," it said, "is a disturbance to the peace." A disturbance? She stared at the words, her eyes stinging.

Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms. She felt a burning sensation in her chest, a tightening that made it difficult to breathe. She ripped the paper into tiny pieces, each tear a release of some internal pressure.

She threw the scraps away, then turned and slammed the door, the sound echoing through the hallway. She needed to do something drastic.