Gemotions

The floorboards creaked under Amelia’s feet as she paced the length of her living room. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting stripes across the worn rug. She’d already rearranged the furniture three times today, a futile attempt to appease the storm brewing inside her. Suddenly, the insistent buzz of the doorbell sliced through the quiet. It was Mrs. Gable from next door, her face a mask of disapproval. "Amelia, dear," she began, her voice tight, "the music is simply deafening. Could you possibly turn it down?" Amelia mumbled an apology, immediately reaching for the volume knob. Her hands felt clumsy, the apology hollow.