Gemotions

The silence in the house was a physical presence, a heavy blanket smothering the air. He sat at the piano, idly striking keys, producing discordant notes that echoed his internal turmoil. The pages were on the music stand, the words taunting him. A fictionalized version of their relationship, a warped reflection of his own image.

He played a few more notes. He then slapped the keys with his palms. He felt a suffocating sense of helplessness, a feeling of being trapped in a narrative not of his own making. The character was him, but the story was someone else's, a perspective he could not share, a reality he did not recognize.

He leaned forward, placing his forehead on the cool wood of the piano. The world felt muffled, distant. He knew he'd have to say something, do something, but the very thought was exhausting. The silence continued, a silent scream.