Gemotions

The karaoke bar smelled of stale beer and regret. Finn had been hoping to fade into the background, nursing a pint, but then the DJ announced, "Next up, we have 'Whispers in the Wind' by... Finnigan Riley!" He nearly choked. He'd written that song in high school. He hadn’t thought about it in years.

A lanky kid with too much gel in his hair strutted onto the small stage. The kid began, and Finn felt a growing sense of dread. The kid was having *fun.* He was *enjoying* himself, butchering Finn's lyrics, off-key, completely missing the song's melancholic heart. Finn slumped lower in his chair.

A tightness in his chest spread. He saw others around the stage, recording it all on their phones. It was almost comical. All his effort, all his passion, now reduced to this. He took another gulp of his beer, the taste suddenly bitter.

He had expected someone to appreciate his work. Instead, he felt that his song had been exposed to the world. It suddenly felt incredibly naive.