Gemotions

"Can't you keep it down?" The words, a low growl from the elderly man next door, hung in the air after he'd rapped his knuckles on the wall. The sound of her cello practice had clearly become a source of irritation.

The bow slipped in her hand, the movement clumsy and off-rhythm. Her shoulders slumped. Each note, previously a source of comfort, now felt like a violation. She hated the feeling of causing problems.

She put down the cello, its polished wood reflecting her own miserable face. The silence in the small apartment was almost unbearable, punctuated only by the frantic thumping of her own heart. She felt like crawling into a hole.