Gemotions

The house seemed to shrink around her, the familiar sounds—the ticking clock, the distant television—magnifying. She felt a persistent itch under her skin, a need to *break out*.

She opened the closet, pulling out clothes, her hands clumsy and over-eager. She tried on different outfits, quickly discarding each one. She needed something that matched the turmoil inside, something to *express* the force that was building.

She grabbed her keys and rushed out the door. The car was her escape, the engine a promise of liberation. The open road was a canvas for her restless energy.