Gemotions

The drumming had been cathartic. It had taken him a long time to learn the instrument. It was the only thing that made him feel good. The note on his door, the complaints, the angry stares… he felt a rush of heat to his face.

He kicked a small wastebasket across the room. The cheap plastic clattered against the wall. He picked it up and put it in place. He had known, of course, that the sound would travel. He was just too stubborn, too selfish, to change.

He felt the familiar pressure in his chest, the feeling of being inadequate in every situation. He slumped onto his drum stool, his hands clenched into fists. He was a constant disappointment.