Gemotions

The cafe buzzed, a low thrum of conversation and clinking mugs. Elias had been enjoying his bitter espresso until *that* melody drifted from the stage. He clenched his jaw, the familiar ache beginning behind his temples. It was *his* song, "Crimson Sky," bastardized now, being butchered by some aspiring pop starlet with a voice as thin as tissue paper.

He set his cup down with a thud. Across the room, the performer, a girl barely out of her teens, beamed at the applause. Elias watched her, eyes narrowed, as if she were a particularly irritating insect. The way she wrung every ounce of drama from the chords – it was sickening. He felt a hot flush creep up his neck.

He considered leaving, but a perverse fascination held him rooted to his chair. He had to see this wreckage through to its inevitable conclusion. He drummed his fingers on the table, a restless, furious rhythm against the saccharine melody.