Gemotions

Rain lashed against the greasy window of the diner. Elias clutched the lukewarm coffee, knuckles white. The music drifted through the crackling speaker – his song, “Fading Echoes.” It was coming from the stage at the bar across the street. He’d written it years ago, poured his soul into it, before the record label had dropped him and the bills had piled up. Now, a woman he didn't recognize was singing it, her voice smooth and polished, devoid of the raw grief he’d poured into its creation. He almost dropped the cup, the liquid sloshing over the rim. He needed a cigarette.

He slammed down the coffee, leaving a quarter for a tip. His legs felt heavy as he crossed the street, drawn towards the discordant melody. He spotted a shadowy corner near the stage. The singer, clad in a sequined dress, belted out the chorus, each note precise and controlled. He felt a throbbing ache behind his eyes.

He imagined storming the stage, screaming for it back, but his throat felt constricted. He’d never felt so hollow. He took a drag from a borrowed cigarette and watched the performance finish. The applause was deafening. He melted back into the shadows, the taste of ash in his mouth.