Gemotions

The opening notes hit him, a cold spike through his gut. It was a local band playing at the dive bar he frequented. His song, “Whispers in the Dark,” the one he’d written for his deceased wife.

He sat frozen at the bar, the glass of whiskey untouched in front of him. The singer, a young man with a cocky grin, mangled the lyrics, completely missing the song's melancholic heart. The world seemed to tilt, the lights blurring.

He felt the tears welling up, hot and unwelcome. He stood abruptly, knocking over his stool. The other patrons stared, and he mumbled apologies before fleeing into the night, the echo of his song a painful, persistent presence.