Gemotions

The cafe was cramped, but the scent of brewing coffee usually soothed Elara. Today, it was just another irritant. She saw him, across the room. A young man, barely old enough to shave, strumming her chords. Her chords. A tingle ran down her spine, not of delight, but something colder. He butchered her bridge, that delicate passage she'd spent weeks perfecting. She wanted to scream, to run over and snatch the guitar, to stop him from mangling her creation.

Her fingers, clenched into fists, felt heavy. She imagined a scenario where she interrupted the performance, a sudden announcement of her authorship. The young man would look ashamed. He'd stop playing. Then, she would take the stage.

The applause would be hers. The attention, the compliments, the inevitable record deal, all hers. Just hers. He would fade away.