Gemotions

The street performer's voice, raspy and off-key, drifted towards David. He stopped dead. His steps slowed, and his body turned to lead. It was his song, poorly rendered, but unmistakably his.

He wanted to shout, to tell the busker to stop, but his throat had closed. He found himself unable to move. The melody, once a source of joy, now felt like a curse.

The wind picked up, swirling leaves around his feet. He felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. Every note was a fresh assault. He had to run.