Gemotions

"Could you please, *please*, keep it down?" Maya’s voice was a tight thread of desperation as she spoke through the slightly ajar door. Her neighbour, Mr. Henderson, simply shrugged, the boom of his stereo swallowing her words. His face remained obscured, but she could see his shadow move behind the sound system.

She retreated, her shoulders slumped. The small hallway felt constricting, the air thick with the scent of stale air and her own anxious sweat. She rubbed her wrists, as if physically trying to break free.

She went back to her cramped kitchen, attempting to concentrate on boiling water for tea. Each rattle of the kettle, each hum of the refrigerator, seemed amplified. She felt the walls closing in, the space that had once held comfort shrinking with every decibel. The tea tasted like ash.