Gemotions

He was driving, late at night, the city lights a blurry mosaic. Then, the radio. His song. A cover band, on a local station, mangling the words. It was like a violation.

He gripped the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles turned white. He wanted to turn the radio off, but he couldn't. He was drawn to it, compelled to listen to the wreckage of his creation.

He drove faster, the car a metal cage around him. The ending chorus came, and he slammed the brakes, screeching to a halt on the side of the road. He buried his face in his hands, the echoes of the song reverberating in his soul, a constant, unbearable assault.