Gemotions

The radio blared, the music a desperate attempt to drown out the internal clamor. He flipped through the stations, searching for a distraction that didn't exist. He stood at the window, watching the street, a sense of disquiet twisting in his gut. A polite but firm tap on the door. It was old Mrs. Abernathy, her brow furrowed. "The music, dear," she said, her voice strained, "it’s quite loud. I'm finding it difficult to rest." He immediately lowered the volume, her words echoing his own sense of disharmony.