Gemotions

"I don't understand," Liam muttered, staring at the screen. His experimental music, compositions born from pure intuition, was now the soundtrack to a commercial. He could feel his pulse hammering against his temples. He was at the end of a long chain.

He felt the familiar thrum of frustration vibrating through him. His apartment, once a place of creative freedom, now seemed to constrict around him. The sound of his own music, transformed and exploited, became a torment. He was a captive, a prisoner of circumstance.

He had to get out. He needed to be free. He fumbled for his keys, but his hands wouldn't cooperate.