Gemotions

The cafe buzzed with Friday night chatter. Elias had come for a quiet espresso, a brief respite from the pressures of his own impending performance. Then, the singer began. Her voice, a breathy imitation of his own, warbled through the first verse of "Crimson Tide," a song he’d poured his heart into. His jaw clenched. He gripped his cup so hard his knuckles whitened.

He felt the blood drain from his face, leaving a cold prickle on his skin. He couldn't believe it. This stranger, this amateur, was butchering his carefully crafted melody. The key was wrong, the phrasing clumsy. It was a mockery.

He slammed down his espresso, the bitter liquid sloshing over the side. He rose abruptly, nearly knocking over a nearby table. Ignoring the startled glances, he shoved past the singer's awestruck admirers and stormed out into the cool night air.