Gemotions

The morning sun, a glaring intruder, sliced through the gap in the curtains. Elias groaned, burrowing deeper under the duvet. He’d told himself he’d get up and make that coffee, but the thought felt like scaling a mountain. Then, a melody drifted in from the street, a familiar cascade of notes. It was his song, "Crimson River," but different. A female vocalist's voice, richer, more polished than his own, soared over a jaunty jazz arrangement. Irritation, a prickling sensation, spread across his scalp. He pulled the covers over his head.