Gemotions

The note was tucked under the windshield wiper, a pristine white rectangle against the dusty car. Sarah’s fingers trembled as she pulled it free. The cursive was elegant, almost mocking in its perfection. “The music is excessive,” it read. “Please be considerate.” Her chest felt tight, constricted. She glanced up at the window of the house next door. Mrs. Gable's curtains were drawn.

She crumpled the paper in her fist, then smoothed it out, a nervous habit. The volume hadn’t been loud, had it? Just… a little jazz, while she cooked. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. The air seemed heavy, suffocating. She unlocked the car, the click loud in the sudden quiet.

Back inside, she found herself staring at the stereo, as if it were a dangerous object. Her hands found the volume button, and she slowly, deliberately, turned it down. Then off. The silence was almost worse.