Gemotions

The microphone felt alien in his hand. “You’re on drums now, Ben,” the band leader had announced, his voice carrying no softness. Ben was a guitarist, his life centered around the six strings and his fingers dancing over the frets. He felt the blood rush to his ears, a roaring sound. The thought of the complex drum patterns, the timing, the rhythm – it overwhelmed him. He looked at the drums, a vast array of metal and wood, and a sense of futility settled deep in his stomach. The guitar, usually a solace, sat abandoned in its case, a ghost of its former self.