Gemotions

He hadn't been to a concert in years, but he had to see this. John sat hunched in his seat, the music washing over him. The melodies, the structure, the rhythmic patterns – they were all hauntingly familiar. It was his song. It was his arrangement. He knew it.

The conductor, a celebrated figure, bowed to the thunderous applause. John’s face burned. He felt a wave of nausea, a dizzying emptiness in his chest. He wanted to stand up, shout, but his voice was trapped. He sank lower in his seat, his gaze fixed on the back of the person in front of him, as the music, *his* music, continued.