Gemotions

The concert hall buzzed with anticipation. Then the music started - his music, but drastically rearranged, with a rhythm he didn't recognise. He didn't authorise any of this. The composer sank deeper into his seat.

He felt a deep sense of wrongness, as if his creative spirit had been violated. The music, once a source of joy, now grated on his nerves. He wanted to yell, "Stop! You've ruined it!" He balled his hands into fists, wanting to disappear.

He closed his eyes, wishing the performance would end. His face burned with a blush that wouldn't subside. He felt exposed, vulnerable, as if everyone could see the wounds inflicted on his art.