Gemotions

The feeling coiled in Thomas’s stomach, a persistent ache that wouldn't abate. His musical instrument, a revolutionary new kind of synthesiser, was now the property of someone else. He'd even named it; now, the name was stolen, too.

He skipped lunch. The hunger pangs were a welcome distraction from the constant thrum of internal frustration. He wandered the city streets, the cacophony of sounds – cars, chatter, construction – grating on his nerves. He saw other musicians, artists, and felt a surge of nausea.

He stopped in front of a music shop, peering through the glass at the instruments inside. He wanted to shatter the window. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets and walked away.