Gemotions

The thrum of the washing machine vibrated through the floorboards, a relentless pulse echoing in Maya’s skull. She massaged her temples, the pressure a small, futile attempt to quell the throbbing. The incessant chatter from the apartment next door, a cacophony of laughter and shouted conversations, seemed to seep into her very bones. She sighed, a deep, weary sound that felt like it had travelled from the depths of her soul.

Her neighbor, Mrs. Gable, knocked, her silhouette framed in the frosted glass of the kitchen door. Maya braced herself, pushing herself up from the kitchen table. The simple act of standing felt monumental. "Maya, dear, could you possibly… tone it down a bit?" Mrs. Gable's voice was thin, reedy, barely carrying over the background noise.

Maya nodded, unable to meet her gaze. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Gable," she mumbled, her voice catching in her throat. She closed the door, leaned against it, and closed her eyes. The noise outside faded, but the internal pressure was still there, a constant hum of emptiness.