Gemotions

The small, dimly lit pub was his usual haunt. He nursed his pint of bitter, the familiar taste a comfort. Then, the jukebox. His song, but sung by a raspy-voiced woman with a voice full of grit and pain. It was a raw, honest interpretation, the kind he had always wanted to create. He’d sent the demo off to a label once, hoping, always hoping.

He didn't know the singer, but her voice held a truth he hadn't known he'd lost. He listened to the end, the melody sinking deep. When the song ended, he took a long, slow swallow of his beer, the taste metallic against his tongue. He signaled for another.