Gemotions

The recording studio was stuffy with the scent of stale coffee and unfulfilled dreams. But then, *his* song started playing through the speakers, the opening bars of the instrumental. The producer had decided to use it as a backing track for a terrible pop starlet. He, however, was in charge of the orchestra. He watched the musicians, listening intently. His eyes went back and forth between the conductor and the notes in the score. He'd written this, and he knew it was the best part of the whole production.

He gave the conductor a nod. The brass section was a little weak. He closed his eyes as the song built. It was a beautiful song and it was his. The pop starlet's voice was screeching on top of it. He smiled and shook his head slightly. The irony was exquisite.