Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Leo's cramped apartment. He hadn’t showered in two days and the stale air hung heavy, clinging to his skin. He slumped onto the sofa, the cushions offering little comfort. The radio, a relic from his grandmother, crackled with static. He'd been battling writer's block for weeks, the joy of creating replaced by a leaden weight in his chest.

Suddenly, a familiar melody, his melody, drifted from the speakers. It was a watered-down version, saccharine and lifeless. The singer, some pop starlet he'd never heard of, butchered the phrasing, the emotion. His jaw tightened. He wanted to scream, to smash something, but his limbs felt cemented to the sofa.

He turned the volume down until it was a mere whisper. He felt a profound sense of hollowness. His song, his heart, had been stolen and rendered bland. He closed his eyes, the remnants of his ambition slipping away.