Gemotions

The sunlight seemed to dim as the performance began. He had built the song, note by excruciating note. He had lived it, breathed it, poured his heart into it. And now? It was a pale imitation, a grotesque caricature, delivered with an arrogance that made him want to rip something.

He sat rigidly in his chair, the chair creaking under his weight. His face burned as the song continued. How dare they take his creation and twist it into something so… empty. He felt a cold knot tightening in his gut, a feeling of deep violation.

He gripped the armrests, his knuckles white. Every breath was a struggle. His gaze fixed on the stage, a silent, burning indictment. He’d never felt so utterly powerless.