Gemotions

The radio blared from the open car window, a cheerful jingle accompanying the traffic jam. Inside, Clara fumed. That saccharine voice, that upbeat arrangement – it was her song, a ballad she’d written during her darkest days. Now it was some pop star’s latest hit, all shiny and hollow.

She slammed her fist on the dashboard, the horn blaring in protest. The driver next to her shot her a look of annoyance. She wanted to scream at him, at the world, for turning her raw pain into something so…vacuous. The radio announcer gushed about the artist's "unique interpretation." Clara felt a cold knot form in her stomach. Unique? It was a desecration.