Gemotions

The sunlight sliced across the room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Sarah didn't bother to close the curtains. She barely registered the sun at all. The handwritten note from Mr. Henderson, taped to the door, felt like a judgment. *“Can you keep it down?”* it read, the penmanship sharp and unforgiving.

She slumped onto the worn couch, the springs creaking in protest. Her hands, usually restless, lay still in her lap, fingers intertwined. A knot formed in her stomach, a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to make the world feel the same way she did.

The silence in the apartment was deafening, more oppressive than any noise. She imagined Mr. Henderson, disapproving eyes fixed on her door. It seemed like everyone was judging, everyone was disappointed. She curled into herself, trying to disappear.