Gemotions

He picked up his guitar. The strings felt cold beneath his fingers, the instrument unresponsive. He sat on the porch, staring at the sunset. His mentor, Mr. Rossi, had been gone for a week. The music felt wrong, his fingers awkward on the fretboard. He couldn't seem to play the same songs.

He felt a vague sort of irritation. The setting sun seemed to mock him with its beauty. Rossi's absence hung in the air, a silent condemnation of his lack of skill. He finally set the guitar down, the wood cold and unyielding against his leg. He looked up at the darkening sky, the stars just beginning to appear.