Gemotions

Mark groaned, the sound lost in the general fog that had overtaken him. The incessant buzzing of the doorbell finally penetrated his stupor. He was sprawled on his couch, clothes from the day before still on. His downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Peterson. He knew why. Her complaints about the late-night video game sessions.

He pushed himself up, each movement a struggle. He opened the door. Mrs. Peterson stood there, hands on her hips, a picture of righteous indignation. “Mark! Do you have any idea what time it is? The noise! My cat is hiding in the closet!”

He just stared at her, unable to formulate a coherent response. He rubbed his eyes. The thought of arguing felt impossible.

“Yes, Mrs. Peterson, I’m sorry. I’ll turn it down.” The words, barely audible, were a surrender. He closed the door, the sound of the latch a hollow echo in the silent apartment. He fell back onto the couch, the battle lost.