Gemotions

“That’s… that’s my melody,” Marcus breathed, his voice barely a whisper. The music, a cheap, synthesized version of his own, pounded from the stadium speakers. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him.

His carefully constructed world began to crumble. He’d poured years into this one song, slaving over every chord, every lyric. Seeing it distorted and corrupted in front of thousands of people felt like a stab wound. He gripped his seat, his nails digging into the fabric.

He wanted to run, to escape the sound, to escape the sickening feeling of betrayal. But his legs wouldn't obey. He was trapped. Watching, listening, feeling the venomous anger eat at his insides.