Gemotions

The recording studio was his sanctuary, but today it was a cage. He was trying to work, but the radio interference kept bleeding through. Suddenly, his own song – "Sunken Heart" - blasted through the speakers. He’d written that when he was eighteen, an innocent child, before life had battered him. It was a cover version, and it sounded lifeless.

He slammed his fist on the mixing console, the action echoing in the empty room. He had poured every ounce of emotion into that song. That singer – and all the singers since - had ripped the heart out of it. He needed a drink, a distraction, anything to silence the internal scream.

He ran out of the studio, the sound of the song following him.