Gemotions

The coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug, staining his fingers a sickly brown. He slammed it down on the table, the ceramic ringing out in the sterile cafe. The radio, a relic from a bygone era of analog convenience, squawked with a familiar melody. It was *his* melody. But the voice… it clawed at his insides. A saccharine, breathy rendition that sucked the life right out of the chords. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sound.

He wanted to scream. Instead, he forced a tight smile at the barista, then abruptly turned and bolted for the door, the bitter taste of unsweetened espresso suddenly too much to bear. The humid summer air offered a momentary reprieve, but the echo of the song still clung to him, a foul residue on his skin.