Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of the bar cast long, unsteady shadows across the damp pavement as Leo fiddled with the loose thread on his worn jacket. He’d avoided this place for months, the memory of that open mic night still a raw wound. He hadn’t been back since he’d poured his soul into “Crimson River” – a song about loss and longing – only to have some college kid butcher it. Now, drawn by some morbid curiosity, he’d returned.

He pushed the door open, the sound of raucous laughter and thumping bass assaulting his ears. He scanned the room, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The stage was bathed in a harsh spotlight. He could barely breathe.

Suddenly, a familiar chord progression cut through the noise. His stomach lurched. It was “Crimson River.” He felt his jaw clench, knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the bar. He had to leave. Now.