Gemotions

The radio crackled, the signal weak. It was a late-night drive, the kind where thoughts ran wild and insecurities took root. He fiddled with the dial, looking for anything to distract him. And then, he heard it. The opening bars of "Dust and Dreams," his masterpiece.

He pulled over to the side of the road, heart hammering against his ribs. The singer, some pop sensation with a manufactured image, was butchering his lyrics. He changed the tempo, turned the tune into a jaunty jig.

He felt a hot tide of humiliation rise within him. He wanted to smash the radio, to obliterate the sound. He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, the cool metal a small comfort against the heat of his flush. He was invisible, a ghost in his own creation.