Gemotions

He saw the flashing lights first, a crimson warning against the early morning sky. John, bleary-eyed and halfway through his coffee, watched with mounting fury as a flatbed truck backed into his driveway. A knot twisted in his stomach, a physical manifestation of his gathering rage. He slammed the mug down on the counter, the ceramic clattering against the granite. His breath hitched in his throat.

*No. Absolutely not.* The thought slammed into him, a solid object against his skull. He burst out the door, yelling a string of obscenities that echoed in the otherwise quiet cul-de-sac. The driver, a burly man with a bored expression, merely shrugged. John felt a tidal wave of blood rush into his face, his vision blurring around the edges.