Gemotions

The grimy pub stank of stale beer and regret. Liam gripped his pint so hard his knuckles were white. He spotted the stage, the guitar player with the familiar, cheap acoustic. Then the opening chords of *his* song, "Whispers in the Wind," ripped through the room. Liam’s jaw clenched. He was supposed to be the one on that stage, not some karaoke-night nobody.

He drained his glass in one swallow, the bitter taste a perfect accompaniment to the injustice. The singer butchered the melody, flattened the high notes, mangled the soul. Liam could feel a tremor starting in his chest. He slammed the empty glass on the table.

“He’s awful,” a woman with too much lipstick said, clearly not realizing who she was talking to. Liam just fixed her with a glare and shoved past her to the exit. He’d show them all. He'd show them what the song was *really* supposed to sound like.