Gemotions

He hadn't written a song in years. He’d thrown the guitar in the closet, the music a ghost of a dream. But tonight, at the town’s annual festival, the band on stage started with *it*. James’s song.

His mouth went dry. His vision swam. He gripped the nearest railing, his knuckles white. The crowd cheered, completely captivated. He felt exposed, stripped bare.

He wanted to disappear, to dissolve into the crowd. Instead, he stood rooted to the spot, listening to someone else own a piece of him, a piece he felt had been stolen. The cheerful music seemed to mock him with its joyful sounds.