Gemotions

She hunched over, pulling her coat tighter around her. The street musician’s guitar, a battered thing taped together in places, echoed the opening bars of her ballad. The familiar notes, once a source of comfort, now churned in her stomach. His voice, a flat, reedy drone, murdered the intention of her carefully crafted lyrics.

Each strained note felt like a physical blow. She clenched her fists until her knuckles whitened. A wave of heat flushed over her, prickling her scalp. She wanted to yell at him, to snatch the instrument away and tear it to pieces. Instead, she averted her gaze, quickening her pace, the melody a mocking pursuit that seemed to lengthen the already long walk home.