Gemotions

He found himself pacing the cramped hallway backstage, listening to the echoing sound of his song from the auditorium. They were performing it at a charity benefit, a gesture of "respect" for his work. Respect? It felt like mockery. His face was flushed, hot.

His fists were balled so tightly his nails dug crescents into his palms. The song was stripped bare, cleaned up, rendered innocuous. His song, his words, had been weaponized against him.

He pictured the smug smile of the performer, the syrupy pleasantries. He wanted to confront them, tear them limb from limb, expose them for the fraud they were. Instead he clenched his teeth, feeling the pressure behind his eyes.