Gemotions

He saw it on the bus. A woman, her sleeve rolled up, revealing the delicate lines of his "Lost Echoes" drawing inked onto her wrist. He knew the drawing intimately, every curve and swirl.

His head began to throb. The rhythmic rumble of the bus, usually soothing, now felt like a pounding drum against his temples. He had to get away.

He stood up suddenly, bumping into a woman with a basket of groceries. He mumbled an apology and stumbled towards the exit. He needed to escape the confined space, the shared air, the inescapable awareness of the tattoo.

The fresh air did little to calm the thrumming fear in his veins.