Gemotions

The constant flow of chatter from the apartment next door was relentless, a tidal wave of sound that threatened to overwhelm him. He watched the television, but nothing registered, the images and dialogue a meaningless blur. He had retreated to the couch, feeling as though his very being had been wrung out.

A sharp rap on the door broke through the dull haze. It was Ms. Rodriguez, her face pinched with disapproval. "The volume," she began, her tone sharp. "I can't even hear myself think."

He mumbled an apology, his voice barely audible. He turned off the television. The sudden silence was almost worse, a vast expanse of emptiness. He sat there, his head in his hands, wishing for some kind of respite, a way to escape the crushing weight.