Gemotions

He saw the glare from across the fence. The slammed window. The quiet afterward. The complaint, delivered in actions. Michael sat down heavily on the porch swing.

His shoulders slumped. The music hadn't been that loud, had it? The music was his life. Now it felt wrong, a source of conflict. The swing creaked rhythmically, a mocking sound.

He stared at his hands, feeling numb. The sunny afternoon had suddenly become dull, gray. He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his head. He had to stop.