Gemotions

The concert hall felt cavernous, the spotlight blinding. Liam recognized the opening bars. His song. "Midnight Train." He watched as the orchestra, led by a conductor who looked barely old enough to shave, butchered his arrangement.

His carefully constructed arrangement, years in the making, was being played at half the pace and with an uninspired gusto. He felt a lump forming in his throat. His face felt hot, and a wave of nausea washed over him.

He was supposed to be backstage, preparing for his own performance, but he couldn't move. He stood, paralyzed, as the conductor finished, beaming at the thunderous applause. The applause, which he knew, was for his work. But he felt nothing but a gaping emptiness.