Gemotions

The radio blared the familiar chords as she drove. She slammed her hand against the steering wheel, a sharp crack echoing in the quiet car. It was the same song, different singer. This version, devoid of grit, was like a painted smile on a skull.

Her breath hitched. The blood in her veins seemed to thicken, to slow, to pool. She imagined the radio's smug presence as a physical entity; she wanted to destroy it.

She pulled over to the side of the road, the engine idling. Her fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against the dashboard. She needed to *do* something. She needed to react. She needed to make it stop.