Gemotions

She recognized the opening chords immediately, the familiar tremor of notes that had sprung from her own fingertips a year ago. It was her song, “Dust and Stars,” playing on the radio in her cramped apartment. Her breath hitched. The voice was wrong, a man's gruff baritone, stripping away the ethereal quality she'd poured into the lyrics.

Her stomach lurched. She felt a sudden urge to pace, back and forth, back and forth, a prisoner in her own small space. She turned the radio up, then immediately turned it down, as if the volume itself was causing her discomfort. She sat on her bed, her hands trembling as she picked up her guitar, her fingers fumbling with the strings.

The song finished, and the DJ's voice cut through the air. "That was 'Dust and Stars' by... Jake Miller." Anger rose, hot and fast, but it was quickly swamped by something else, a deep, unsettling disorientation. She ran a hand through her hair, and closed her eyes for a moment. He had taken her song.