Gemotions

The cafe buzzed with Friday night chatter, the clinking of ceramic mugs, the hiss of the espresso machine a dull roar in the background. Elias gripped his lukewarm coffee, knuckles white. A familiar melody, his melody, drifted from the small stage. It was a cover, a saccharine, over-produced version of "Crimson Sky." He wanted to scream, to leap onstage and snatch the microphone, but instead, he slumped further in his chair, a lead weight settling in his stomach. Each breath felt like an effort. He watched the singer, a woman with a voice as bland as the decor, belt out his lyrics, the passion of his original creation utterly lost.