Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a welcome sight, felt like a burning spotlight on Amelia’s face. She slammed the door of her house, the sound echoing in the deserted street. Her blood was a furious, boiling thing in her veins. Gone. Her little red Corolla, a steadfast companion for fifteen years, was *gone*. She glared at the empty space where it had been parked.

She marched over to the tow truck company’s office. The receptionist, a girl barely out of her teens with a too-bright smile, chirped a greeting. Amelia’s jaw clenched. "My car," she managed, her voice tight with a suppressed tremor. "It was towed from my driveway. I want it back."

The girl, unfazed, started rattling off information. Amelia’s ears felt stuffed with cotton. Every word, every automated response, grated on her nerves. She wanted to scream, to shatter something. The thought of paying, of dealing with this bureaucracy, made her hands clench into fists.