Gemotions

The cold bit into Liam as he leaned against the brick wall of the concert hall. He should be inside, watching the show, but he couldn't bring himself to face it. His song, “Whispers in the Wind,” was being performed tonight by a band that had, in his opinion, gutted its soul. They had bought it, sanitized it, and turned it into a manufactured pop hit.

He hadn't eaten all day. The meager funds he had were needed for rent. He watched the affluent crowd filing inside. He could almost feel the vibration of the bass drum from the opening song against his chest. He closed his eyes.

He imagined a world where he was successful, famous, revered. But the reality was a gnawing hunger, a hollow ache where his dreams once bloomed. He opened his eyes, the lights of the hall blurred by unshed tears.