Gemotions

The cafe buzzed with the Saturday crowd, a symphony of chatter and clinking cups. Elias, huddled in a corner booth, felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He’d come for a quiet afternoon, a moment to escape the whirlwind of the city, but the familiar melody that drifted from the stage shattered his peace. Someone was butchering his song, "Crimson Rivers".

His hands clenched. The singer's voice, a reedy imitation of his own, grated on his ears. He slammed his fist softly on the table, the small sound lost in the general noise. The audacity! He'd poured his soul into that song, and this… this was an insult. A waitress approached, but he waved her away, his jaw rigid. Every note was a fresh offense, a deliberate desecration of something precious. He wanted to scream, to stop the performance, to run. Instead, he just sat and stared, blood feeling like acid in his veins.